ring  some  dceouni  ^vrif feD/fow iitne  to  iime  ^. Jtiriivj 
.nddjlervisitscoverinp  some  considcmMc  spcee  oj  f ime  tipotv- 
s^nosl  curious  dndcomj)dr4.iiv^(y  unknown  IsUnJ^ — - 
ikTioivtt  in  spile  of  ^licjacl  tfidf  jfiotttatxh  of  |(mrisfs  yisil 
ae6yedr'.ttttojt(iechardct«r  orjfte  life  of  roese  sffdupe eople 


••;?' 


-•'^•IL 

"ff&~trt  •••'r- •"'<:'    • 

&«F 


^ 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Of 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


t 


Other  books  written 
and  illustrated  by 
the  same  author 


HOLLAND  OF   TODAY 
BRITTANY  AND  THE  BRETONS 

SOME   OLD   FLEMISH 
TOWNS 


Published  by 

Moffat,    Yard  and  Company 
York 


"  RIVALS" 

l-'rtini  ti  \\~atercolor  by  thr  An  I  Inn 


Toeing  some  account  ^riffefl/rotn  iitne  to  lime  Wn  during 
land  d/iervisits  covering  some  considerable  space  oj  time  tipon^ 
^tfiisjnosl  curious  andcom^mfively  unknown  IskflJ'- — 
(lltiknowrj  in  spiie  0}  |de^ct  tfiaf  jfiousmids  oj  ^anrisls  yisi^ 
it  mrfj  year- tut  ojtlie  chawcter  orjfie  li/eqf  Jbese  sfraflpcpeopfe 
jiiey)(«ow|ittfeorfioll)inj'^Do)vsrfJorrt  4»4  pictured  w 

>*»  ^l/^  — •*         jT*^  -V  *^ 

eorae^far/on  &aw0ra$ 


Copyright,  1912 
By  GEORGE  WHARTON  EDWARDS 

All  Rights  Reserved 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I  MARKEN i 

II  CHRISTMAS  ON  MARKEN 18 

III  THE  KOFFIJ  HUIS 37 

IV  SOME       CHARACTERISTICS,       AND       A 

GHOST   STORY 50 

V  THE  "JOEN  PIEZL" 61 

VI  THE  QUEEN'S  BIRTHDAY 65 

VII  THE  STORY-TELLER 79 

VIII  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  OLD  MARTIJ     .      .  94 

IX  THE  HERRING  FLEET 101 

X  THE  GREAT   STORM 106 

XI  MELANIJ'S   FORTUNE 113 

XII  THE  HEER  PASTOOR 125 

XIII  THE  WEDDING 131 

XIV  SUNDAY  IN  CHURCH  AND  OUT  .     .     .142 
XV  OLD  ARY  PIK 153 

XVI  FROM  MY  WINDOW 162 

XVII  "TOT    WEERSIENS" 170 


PENCIL  SKETCHES   FROM 
THE  AUTHOR'S   SKETCHBOOK 

"RIVALS"  ...*..  Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

TYPE  OF  HOUSE          .         .         .         .         .         .12 

THE  WALL  BED  IN  WHICH  I  SLEPT          .         .       26 
ALWAYS  KNITTING      .         .         .         .         .         .32 

GOSSIPS      ........       40 

THE  PATROON 50 

A  BOY  AND  GIRL      ......       60 

AN  INTERIOR 72 

OLD  CRONIES     .......       84 

WILLUM   KOOITJ         ......       94 

A  YOUNG  MOTHER  AND  CHILD  .  .  .  102 
JUST  BOYS  .  .  .  .  .  .  no 

YOUNG  FISHERMEN 118 

PUTTING  ON  HER  SKATES  .  .  .  .  .124 
A  WEDDING  COSTUME  .....  132 
TYPES  IN  SUNDAY  DRESS  .....  142 

A  LIVING  ROOM 150 

A  VILLAGE  STREET    .         .         .         .         .         .158 

JUST  GIRLS        .......     166 

A  DAILY  TASK          .         .         .         .         .         .172 

ON  THE  DYKE  .         .         .         .         .         .         .178 


STBatl, 


A/TARKEN,  pronounced  "Marriker"  by  the 
islanders,  is  really  a  number  of  small 
sandy  hillocks  divided  by  shallow  canals  and  re- 
enforced  by  low  strong  dikes  upon  which  are 
mounds  of  earth  brought  from  the  mainland  and 
connected  by  narrow  brick-paved  paths,  whereon 
the  wooden  houses  are  built  upon  piling.  In 
the  spring  when  the  waters  of  the  Zuyder  Zee 
are  swollen  by  the  freshets,  and  during  the 
severe  storms  that  sweep  this  vast  shallow  inner 
sea,  the  dikes  are  flooded,  and  communication 
between  the  islands  is  often  difficult.  The 
angry  waters  dash  against  and  flood  the  houses, 
and  the  dwellers  are  forced  to  seek  the  upper 

I 


2  MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

floors  of  the  houses  for  comfort.  There  being 
no  stairways  in  the  Marken  houses,  ladders  are 
used,  somewhat  like  those  on  the  blunt-bowed 
barges  in  the  canals. 

I  am  unable  to  find  the  Zuyder  Zee  (pro- 
nounced "Sowider  Zay")  on  any  map  of  Hol- 
land dated  before  the  thirteenth  century.  The 
Rivers  Ysel  and  Vlie  then  divided  the  provinces 
of  Friesland  and  North  Holland,  which  were 
really  one.  The  Zuyder  Zee,  it  appears,  came 
into  existence  when,  after  the  great  inundations 
of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  low  lands  were 
submerged  and  Friesland  divided.  Three  cen- 
turies elapsed  after  the  last  of  these  floods  before 
Marken  appeared  upon  any  map,  and  it  is  not 
improbable  that  the  singular  people,  whose  de- 
scendants now  arouse  so  much  curiosity,  were 
driven  there  by  the  terrors  of  the  Inquisition 
which  flourished  upon  the  mainland  during  the 
Spanish  occupation.  At  any  rate,  they  are  of 
the  Reformed  Church,  and  cut  off  from  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Franks  and  unmolested,  they  thus 
preserved  the  quaint  characteristics  which  dis- 
tinguish them  to  this  day.  Thus  they  remain  in 


MARKEN  3 

a  sense  a  people  by  themselves  with  a  sort  of 
language  of  their  own,  an  indescribable  dialect 
which  staggers  even  a  Dutchman. 

The  Markenite  thinks  so  highly  of  himself 
that,  in  common  with  the  Frieslander,  he  does 
not  like  to  be  called  a  Hollander,  and  he  really 
is  of  a  different  type,  being  tall  in  stature,  heavy 
in  frame,  with  strong  jaws,  somewhat  sallow  of 
complexion,  and  with  piercing  eyes  of  a  bluish- 
gray.  This  description  applies  equally  to  the 
women,  who  are  indeed  far  from  being  hand- 
some according  to  our  standards.  Over  on  the 
mainland  and  especially  to  the  southward, 
the  people  have  a  decided  attachment  to  the 
Catholic  religion,  and  there  is  a  considerable  in- 
fusion of  foreign  blood  by  marriage,  due  no 
doubt  to  the  roving  disposition  of  the  Hol- 
lander, as  well  as  to  the  migration  to  the  north 
from  the  provinces  during  the  eighty  years'  war 
of  the  Huguenots,  and  the  swarthy  cosmopoli- 
tans of  Zeeland  affiliated  with  the  Spanish  in- 
vaders after  the  occupation.  The  attitude  of 
the  Marken  people  towards  the  Hollander  and 
other  strangers,  is,  as  a  rule,  one  of  antipathy 


4  MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

and  strict  isolation.  No  Marken  woman  mar- 
ries outside  of  Marken,  nor  apparently  do  they 
emigrate.  Occasionally  I  have  seen  one  or  two 
groups  of  the  women  in  the  streets  of  Amster- 
dam resplendent  in  the  costume,  and  followed 
invariably  by  a  curious  crowd,  to  whom  they  are 
as  strange  as  to  the  tourist.  They  are  not  very 
polite  in  manner,  yet  they  do  not  intend  to  be 
rude,  I  am  convinced.  If  you  speak  to  them 
they  will  invariably  salute  you  with  a  guttural 
"Goe'n  Dag!"  or  "Goe'n  aovond  saomen!"  I 
know  that  they  resent  being  considered  as  curi- 
osities, for  they  have  told  me  so  while  I  was 
living  with  them.  Of  course  there  are  those 
who  keep  the  shops  where  doubtful  curios  are  to 
be  bought,  but  the  keepers  of  these  shops  are  not 
well  liked  by  the  people,  and  as  it  is  these  whom 
the  tourist  sees  and  barters  with  on  the  excursion 
to  the  Island,  naturally  he  thinks  that  the  rest 
are  of  the  same  cloth.  But  could  the  tourists, 
male  and  female,  hear  some  of  the  amused  and 
contemptuous  criticism  of  themselves  by  the 
ringletted  vrouwes  over  their  teacups,  after  the 
staring  throng  leaves  the  narrow  streets  to  their 


MARKEN  5 

normal  quietness,  their  ears,  I  am  quite  sure, 
would  burn. 

The  tourist  seldom,  if  ever,  stops  over  night 
on  Marken,  there  is  indeed  no  accommodation 
for  him,  but  for  me  there  was  no  risk  of  discom- 
fort, armed  as  I  was  with  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  "Den  Heer  Appel,"  sometime  Burgomeester 
of  the  community.  When  I  informed  Mynheer 
of  the  hostelry  at  Monnickendam,  over  a 
friendly  glass  of  fine  port,  of  my  intention  to 
stop  with  the  Markenites  he  gasped,  and  with 
a  vehemence  and  detail  which  I  thought  un- 
necessary, related  certain  tales  which  I  had 
heard  before.  The  people  of  the  Island  are, 
though  prudish  to  a  degree,  most  singularly 
frank  in  some  things  hidden  by  common  consent, 
and  the  line  dividing  the  delicate  from  the  in- 
delicate is  rather  attenuated  on  Marken.  The 
old  slander  of  the  personal  uncleanliness  of  the 
Hollander  loses  little  by  repetition,  but  I  must 
say  that  their  cleanliness,  while  not  perfect,  is 
not  so  superficial  as  reported.  They  have  a 
little  word  equivalent  to  our  "neat."  It  is 
"Netjes,"  and  really  the  Marken  people  are 


6  MARKEN.  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

neat  in  their  persons,  quite  as  neat  as  any  of  the 
Continental  people.  As  for  their  houses,  they 
are  continually  being  scrubbed  and  polished. 
But  (whisper)  there  are  fleas — big  ones,  too— 
and  everywhere.  However,  the  householders 
know  how  to  deal  with  them  as  I  was  later  to 
discover  for  myself. 

Since  the  railway  people  began  to  exploit 
them  at  $1.50  per  ticket  (excursion),  and  the 
Markenites  have  been  brought  somewhat  more 
in  contact  with  civilization,  they  have  undoubt- 
edly lost  many  of  their  unsophisticated  and  pro- 
verbially primitive  ways  and  manners.  The 
many  tarred  wooden  houses  on  the  different  "ter- 
pen,"  as  the  hummocks  are  called,  which  are  often 
crudely  painted  in  green  and  red  stripes  at  the 
gables,  do  yet  preserve  their  quaintness,  and 
upon  the  arrival  of  the  boat  laden  with  tourists, 
the  children,  some  of  whom  are  veritable  pests, 
gather  on  the  dike  and  importune  the  visitors 
for  money — "Baby  cents"  they  scream,  and  at 
this  shrill  call  out  come  the  beggars  and  the  old 
people  who  are  forced  to  stay  at  home. 

These  are  all  the  people  of  Marken  seen  by 


MARKEN  7 

the  tourist;  the  better  element  remain  behind 
closed  doors  while  the  throng  of  sightseers  re- 
main. On  Sundays  alone  are  the  men  to  be 
seen.  Then  the  narrow  little  harbor  is  thronged 
with  the  boats  of  the  fishing  fleet,  more  than  one 
hundred  and  eighty  of  them,  all  with  their  bows 
pointed  in  the  same  direction,  scrubbed  clean 
and  brightly  varnished  so  that  the  wood  seems 
like  polished  mahogany,  and  the  tall  masts  are 
decked  with  the  red,  white  and  blue  of  Holland. 
The  boats,  called  Tjalks,  Boms,  and  Boiers,  are 
very  seaworthy,  often  sailing  as  far  as  the  coast 
of  Scotland,  returning  to  their  snug  little  harbor 
in  the  Gouwzee  [pronounced  Howsay]  once  in 
a  week  or  ten  days.  Each  boat  is  numbered  on 
the  bow,  for  registry,  and  on  the  stern  is  gener- 
ally painted  the  name,  such  as  "De  Vrouw 
Geertij,"  [Gerty]  or  "De  Jong  Nikolaas,"  or 
"Niko"  for  short.  Repeatedly  the  island  has 
suffered  from  fire,  as  well  as  inundation,  and  in 
one  of  the  houses  on  a  sort  of  shelf  is  a  comically 
diminutive  fire  engine  or  pump  which  is  the  sole 
protection  of  the  island  against  its  constantly 
threatening  enemy,  the  peat  fire,  kept  burning 


8  MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

on  the  hearth  of  each  house.  Formerly  there 
were  no  chimneys,  the  smoke  from  the  hearth 
escaping  up  through  openings  in  the  upper 
floor  and  the  roof.  The  town  or  settlement 
is  divided  as  aforesaid  into  eleven  small  ham- 
lets, all  built  on  mounds  called  "Terpen," 
and  joined  by  narrow  brick-paved  paths  and 
canals.  On  the  twelfth  "Terpen,"  or  hillock, 
is  the  cemetery  raised  some  fifteen  feet  above 
the  water  and  surrounded  by  an  iron  railing  in 
which  is  a  high  gate.  Here  the  Markenite  is 
laid  to  rest  for  a  stated  number  of  years,  after 
which  his  remains  are  otherwise  disposed  of. 
My  inquiries  as  to  this  matter  troubled  my  in- 
formant greatly  and  very  nearly  cost  me  his 
confidence.  I  surmise,  therefore,  that  the  re- 
mains are,  as  is  the  case  in  Brittany,  taken  up 
and  deposited  in  a  sort  of  ossuary,  but  I  could 
not  get  any  further  information  upon  the  sub- 
ject, so  I  did  not  pursue  it.  The  funeral  cus- 
toms are  unique,  and  there  is  so  much  ostentation 
that  the  Burgomeester  is  formulating  rules  which 
are  to  be  enforced  hereafter — tending  to  curb 
and  restrict  some  of  the  customs.  I  shall  here- 


MARKEN  9 

after  describe  a  funeral  as  I  witnessed  it  one 
blustery  day  in  September,  after  the  tourist 
season  was  over  and  Marken  had  lapsed  into  its 
normal  calm. 

The  only  tree  upon  Marken  is  on  this  ceme- 
tery mound,  a  poor  looking  poplar  propped  up 
with  a  stick,  and  looking,  when  I  last  saw  it,  as 
if  it  would  not  survive  the  coming  winter  storms. 
There  is  an  abundance  of  grass  grown,  and  the 
sight  presented  by  the  strangely  costumed  girls, 
boys  and  old  men  cutting  and  raking  it  on  the 
meadows  is  most  curious.  As  for  the  costume, 
it  is  so  strange  as  to  be  remarkable  even  in  this 
country  of  Holland,  renowned  for  its  peculiar 
dress.  The  men  habitually  wear  a  sort  of 
divided  skirt  like  knee-breeches  of  brown  or 
blue-woolen  stuff,  very  thick  and  stiff;  a  loose, 
plain  jacket  with  a  couple  of  gold  or  silver  but- 
tons on  the  collar,  and  on  Sundays,  a  tall,  silk, 
almost  brimless  hat.  As  for  the  women,  their 
dress  is  very  intricate  and  elaborate.  How  they 
ever  manage  all  the  strings  and  buttons  without 
help  is  a  mystery.  Their  head-dress  consists  of 
a  miter-shaped  cap  or  cylinder  of  pasteboard, 


io          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

covered  with  some  bright  calico  or  often  silk 
stitched  with  bright-colored  ribbons,  and  sur- 
mounting a  small  muslin  or  lace  cap  called  a 
"Muts."  From  beneath  this  helmet,  cut  straight 
across  the  forehead  and  almost  on  the  level  of 
the  eyes,  is  a  sort  of  "bang"  or  fringe  of  the  yel- 
lowest imaginable  hair,  while  from  either  temple 
hang  two  long  golden  curls  almost  down  to  the 
waist.  The  older  women,  indeed  the  most  an- 
cient of  the  dames,  wear  a  fringe  and  curls  of 
silk  floss.  The  bodice  is  tightly  laced  with  a 
plastron  of  flowered  chintz,  and  thereafter  is  an 
incredible  quantity  of  heavy  woolen,  and  often 
silk,  outstanding  skirts  and  petticoats  suspended 
from  the  hips  over  a  wooden  hoop.  The  girls 
and  boys  up  to  a  certain  age,  say  nine  or  ten,  are 
dressed  alike,  and  only  to  be  distinguished  by  a 
button  on  the  cap  of  the  boy,  and  a  rose  on  the 
cap  of  the  girl,  and  what  pests  these  boys  and 
girls  are  to  the  stranger !  While  as  for  the  artist 
-just  let  him  open  his  sketch-book  and  the 
roadway  is  at  once  crowded  with  them  before 
and  behind  him,  above  and  below  him !  No  less 
conservative  in  their  customs  than  in  their  cos- 


MARKEN  ii 

tumes  the  Markenites  remain  the  strangest  of 
all  the  Hollanders,  and  even  these,  their  neigh- 
bors, can  understand  but  little  of  the  dialect 
which  they  use  with  one  another,  and,  even  at 
times,  that  worldly-wise  old  body,  Vrouwe  Mar- 
ret  je  Thijsseus  Teerhuis,  occasionally,  when  one 
questions  her  too  hard  as  to  certain  happenings 
on  Oost  Gouwzee  [pronounced  Ost  Howsay^ 
or  the  Wester  Gouw,  will  relapse  into  strange 
gutturals,  unintelligible  to  her  questioner,  and 
then  only  the  purchase  of  a  piece  of  "blue,"  or 
the  expressed  desire  for  a  cup  of  tea  will  arouse 
her  interest  anew.  It  is  to  her  that  I  owe  my 
knowledge  of  much  concerning  Marken  here  set 
down,  and  the  amount  of  tea  which  I  consumed 
while  acquiring  this  knowledge  is  almost  in- 
credible. 

As  I  have  said,  the  houses  are  of  wood,  some 
painted  brightly,  others  only  pitched  or  tarred. 
There  is  one  house  of  stone,  that  of  the  Heer 
Pastoor,  who  possesses  a  small  garden  in  which 
there  were  once,  I  am  told,  some  trees.  Vrouwe 
Marretje  says  that  two  trees  have  been  ordered 
in  Amsterdam  for  the  Heer  Pastoor's  garden, 


12          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

and  that  this  fall  they  are  to  be  brought  over  by 
boat  and  planted,  adding  that  there  will  be  a 
festival  of  presentation  upon  this  occasion. 

Then  there  are  the  church  on  Mittel  Vlaar', 
as  one  of  the  "Terpen"  is  named,  the  school  and 
the  town  offices.  There  are  about  one  thousand 
people  on  Marken,  and  there  is  a  doctor  who 
lives  there  in  the  summer.  He  is  not,  however, 
a  native.  His  fees  are  regulated  by  the  Burgo- 
meester,  who  is,  by  the  way,  a  native,  and  I 
imagine,  therefore,  that  his  income  must  be  a 
small  one.  They  are  a  rugged,  hardy  race,  quite 
equal  to  any  emergency.  Peaceful  enough  when 
let  alone,  they  resent  any  attempt  to  coerce 
them,  and  there  seems  no  power,  either  persua- 
sive or  threatening,  that  has  any  perceptible  in- 
fluence upon  this  people, — either  their  bodies  or 
their  minds.  They  pursue  their  own  way 
though  the  skies  fall,  and  the  skies  might  fall  a 
second  time  before  they  would  allow  an  intruder 
to  do  otherwise  than  their  way.  They  have  a 
hard,  independent,  savage  way,  almost,  of  show- 
ing their  dislike  for  strangers  whom  they  sus- 
pect of  insincerity,  and  they  will,  especially  the 


TYPE  OF  HOUSE 


MARKEN  13 

children,  serve  one  such,  nasty  tricks.  They 
intermarry  and  have  small  regard  or  respect  for 
any  outside  their  community.  Even  towards 
the  Queen  of  Holland  upon  her  last  visit  they 
were  reserved,  merely  remarking  that  it  is  a  pity 
she  was  not  born  a  Markenite,  and  when  she  was 
escorted  about  by  the  Burgomeester  they  in- 
quired why  she  did  not  leave  her  "Klompen"  at' 
the  door,  as  is  the  custom  on  Marken  when  one 
enters  a  house.  They  assume  that  the  sea,  the 
sky,  the  shore,  is  theirs  by  right,  and  that  if  they 
felt  inclined  to  assert  their  right,  there  are  ways 
to  accomplish  it.  They  are  thrifty,  fond  of 
their  homes  and  children,  hard  workers  and 
thoroughly  honest  and  self-respecting.  Marital 
infidelity  and  divorce  is  unknown  among  them. 
They  are  really  habitual  or  hard  drinkers;  the 
days  upon  which  they  become  very  drunken  are 
May  Day  and  Christmas,  the  latter  festival  be- 
ing a  borrowed  one  from  Volendam,  and  much 
frowned  upon  by  the  more  conservative.  On 
the  anniversary  of  the  Queen's  Birthday,  of  late 
years,  there  has  been  a  day  of  rejoicing.  They 
all  look  healthy,  seem  happy  in  their  own  way, 


i4          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

and  are  well  clothed.  They  are  shrewd,  clever, 
and  honest  to  a  fault.  It  is  a  matter  of  wonder 
that  they  have  remained  as  they  are,  a  distinct 
people  for  centuries,  their  men  sailing  the  seas, 
content  to  fish  for  its  treasures,  and  returning  to 
spend  their  sunset  days  in  their  own  little  com- 
munity and  among  their  own  people. 

As  may  be  seen  then,  Marken  is  unique  in 
many  respects,  even  to  the  Dutch  themselves. 
Nearly  all  of  its  features  and  customs  are  dis- 
tinct and  unusual.  The  people  have,  as  I  have 
said,  always  intermarried  and  they  have  a  sin- 
cere, inborn  dislike  and  contempt  for  their 
neighbors  on  the  mainland.  Some  authorities, 
as  already  intimated,  claim  for  them  Russian 
origin,  others  say  that  they  are  the  descendants 
of  some  Oriental  tribe,  the  character  of  their  cos- 
tume and  some  of  their  customs  pointing  to  the 
latter,  but  it  is  all  surmise  and  their  origin  will 
always  be  a  matter  and  subject  of  dispute. 
After  a  certain  age  the  Marken  woman  be- 
comes a  shrew  and  ugly  in  temper,  but  the 
younger  ones,  who  have  not  yet  come  in  con- 
tact with  the  sorrows  of  life,  possess  a  charming 


MARKEN  15 

modesty,  or  else  a  shyness  such  as  one  cannot  dis- 
tinguish from  it,  and  a  certain  freshness  akin  to 
beauty.  On  the  Sabbath  day  the  majority  of 
these  women  sacrifice  appearance  to  fashion,  but 
it  is  a  fashion  that  they  invent  and  consider 
among  themselves,  and  not  concerned  with  that 
of  the  towns  of  the  mainland.  They  then  ap- 
pear in  rainbow  array  of  silk,  satin  and  lace,  so 
stiffly  arrayed  in  multitudinous  petticoats  that 
they  can  scarcely  sit  down.  Their  bodices  are 
either  of  magenta,  bright  red,  or  purple,  with 
absurd  little  coat-tails  sticking  out  at  the  back, 
and  their  wide  skirts  have  broad  vertical  stripes 
of  dull  blue  and  bright  alternately,  or  vivid  ma- 
genta ones  with  broad  white  stripes.  Their 
ankles  are  visible  for  fully  six  inches  in  heavy- 
knitted  white  or  dark-blue  stockings,  and  on 
their  feet  are  coarse  leathern  shoes  with  silver 
buckles.  These  seem  more  stylish  to  them  than 
the  white  painted  wooden  "Klompen"  formerly 
worn  in  all  weathers,  but  now  chiefly  on  wet 
days.  Some  of  these  young  women  have  olive 
complexions  with  healthy  red  blood  mantling 
under  it,  some  have  glossy  brown-black  hair,  and 


16          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

glorious  straight  dark  eyebrows.  Others  are 
very  fair,  with  milky-white,  lovely  columns  of 
throats,  and  hair  like  burnished  yellow  gold,  cut 
straight  across  the  white  brows  in  a  thick  bang, 
from  under  which  gleam  mischievous  blue 
sparkling  eyes.  Straight  as  poplar  trees,  these 
girls  have  never  known  corsets.  Their  supple 
bodies  move  as  nature  intended;  but  they  are 
shy  and  awkward  beyond  belief  under  one's 
scrutiny. 

The  men  and  women  are  musical  among 
themselves  when  no  stranger  is  nigh.  Nearly 
all  of  them  can  sing  well  or  tell  a  story,  and  so 
their  gatherings  are  merry.  Both  sexes  imbibe 
gin,  and  a  sickly  sweet  wine  looking  like  milk, 
and  be  it  said,  they  are  rather  quarrelsome  like 
all  island  people.  The  men  often  fight,  and  the 
tongues  of  the  women  when  excited  or  angered 
are  a  matter  of  comment  for  the  surrounding 
country  people.  The  maidens  will  have  but  one 
sweetheart  apiece,  thus  they  are  all  paired  off. 
Courting  is  done  on  Saturday  nights,  and 
usually  at  the  fair  one's  hearth.  The  greatest 
liberty  and  license  is  permitted  to  them  and  ex- 


MARKEN  17 

cites  no  comment.  But  once  married,  Mrs. 
Grundy  rarely,  if  ever,  has  cause  to  find  fault 
with  their  actions.  Such  a  thing  as  flirtation  is 
unknown  upon  Marken.  Virtue  is  unconscious. 
The  men  are  smart  fishermen  and  born  sailors. 
They  are  not  good  swimmers,  many  of  them  have 
never  been  overboard,  although  following  the 
sea  all  their  lives.  Such  a  thing  as  bathing  in 
the  Zuyder  Zee  is  unknown  to  the  Islanders,  who 
would  be  shocked  at  the  bare  mention  of  such  a 
thing.  The  fishermen  have  some  wonderful 
songs,  which  are  indeed  capital  to  them.  Haul- 
ing the  nets  for  hours  is  stiff  work  even  for  their 
brawny  arms.  I  have  heard  them  sing  and  seen 
the  effect  it  produces  upon  them,  and  the  work 
done  to  its  rhythmic  cadence.  It  is  sung  pecul- 
iarly, the  sound  expelled  forcibly  in  vehement 
ejaculations,  timed  to  their  laborious  movement 
when  pulling  at  the  oars  or  drawing  in  the  heavy 
herring-nets.  The  song  contains  scores  of 
verses,  but  certain  catch-words  form  a  nucleus 
'round  which  the  Dutch  "chanty  man"  em- 
broiders the  daily  topics. 


o/i  cJlOatk 


en 


T  JOURNEYED  all  the  way  from  Paris  for 
the  purpose  of  studying  the  celebration  on 
Marken.  "Sint  Niklaas,"  the  Dutch  Santa 
Claus,  is  as  highly  honored  there,  perhaps  more 
so,  than  he  is  with  us.  The  date  of  celebration, 
however,  is  on  the  night  of  the  Fifth  of  Decem- 
ber, and  for  the  previous  three  weeks,  all  Mar- 
ken  is  preparing  for  this  day.  Here  in  this 
strange  village,  the  children,  always  in  evidence, 
now  are  almost  crazed  with  excitement,  the 
younger  ones,  to  whom  the  recollection  of  the 
last  celebration  is  perchance  dim,  are  in  a  fever 
of  expectation.  Their  exuberant  fancies  are 
stimulated  by  tales  of  wonders  in  store  for  them, 

18 


CHRISTMAS  ON  MARKEN  19 

and  vivid  word  pictures  of  the  attributes  of  the 
good  "Sint."  And  not  only  is  this  a  great  day 
for  the  children,  but  the  "Grown-Ups,"  too, 
look  forward  to  it  even  as  they  do  to  the  grosser 
joys  of  Kermis,  for  this  is  the  great  occasion  for 
the  presentation  of  gifts,  gifts  curious,  suit- 
able, valuable  and  often  most  ridiculous.  The 
greatest  care  is  spent  in  devising  them.  For 
weeks  beforehand  members  of  families  are  busy 
in  secluded  corners  fashioning  "Surprises." 
Everyone  knows  that  mysteries  are  in  store,  but 
this  only  enhances  the  interest  in  the  occasion, 
and  it  is  very  bad  form  to  even  notice  the  hurried 
concealment  of  an  object  in  the  hands  of  a  per- 
son surprised  in  its  preparation. 

The  Zuyder  Zee  was  frozen  over,  and  skating 
parties  of  happy,  merry,  laughing  people  were 
met  on  every  hand  that  bright  cold  morning, 
when  I  clambered  down  the  dike  of  Monnicken- 
dam  and  climbed  into  the  small,  red,  horse  sleigh 
on  my  way  across  the  ice  to  the  settlement  miles 
away.  A  cold  fierce  wind  blew  that  made  my 
nose  and  cheeks  smart  and  tingle.  Against  the 
sky,  the  snow-covered  dikes  appeared  a  dazzling 


20          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

white,  while  above  them  the  tiled  roofs  of  the 
houses  formed  a  thin  low  scarlet  line  dominated 
by  the  huge  plum-colored  tower  of  the  old 
church,  and  a  neighboring  windmill  beyond,  the 
arms  of  which  were  motionless.  Five  gulden, 
the  driver  demanded  for  the  trip  over,  and  really 
the  price  was  not  exorbitant,  although  Mynheer, 
behind  the  door  of  the  smoking  room  at  Mon- 
nickendam,  gesticulated  emphatically  in  the 
negative.  But  heedless  of  his  despairing  shrug, 
I  agreed,  and  thereby  lost  caste  with  him.  Time 
has  since  softened  his  resentment,  but  he  has,  I 
am  convinced,  never  quite  felt  the  same  towards 
me  for  not  heeding  his  friendly  admonition. 
The  driver,  now  that  I  had  engaged  him  at  his 
own  price,  was  most  friendly  and  loquacious. 
The  day,  he  said,  was  made  expressly  for  our 
trip  over  the  ice  to  Marken.  When  he  was 
young,  he  rarely  remembered  a  winter  when  the 
Zuyder  Zee  was  not  frozen  over,  but  these  later 
years,  the  winters  had  been  so  mild  that  there  had 
been  but  few  days  of  real  good  skating,  save  in 
the  north,  in  Friesland.  When  he  had  satisfied 
his  powers  of  description  upon  these  points,  and 


CHRISTMAS  ON  MARKEN  21 

his  curiosity  as  well,  upon  some  intimate  details 
as  to  my  age,  my  profession,  my  wealth  and  so 
forth,  all  of  which  I  very  patiently  communi- 
cated, with  more  or  less  candor,  he  lapsed  into 
silence  and  withdrew  unto  himself. 

Meanwhile  the  tall  bony  horse  was  bearing  us 
rapidly  along  the  fairly  swept  path  of  smooth 
ice  among  the  skaters,  who  were  speeding  rap- 
idly by  us  in  both  directions.  Sleds  and  sleighs, 
there  were  before  and  behind  us  of  every  size 
and  shape,  some  of  them  pushed  by  skaters  from 
behind,  others  drawn  by  boys  and  men  gliding 
abreast  in  pairs  and  threes,  with  long  green 
painted  poles,  brass  knobbed,  held  before  them 
horizontally.  Their  skates  are  long  bladed,  low, 
and  pointed  upwards  in  a  graceful  curve,  tipped 
sometimes  with  a  small  brass  ball  or  acorn.  The 
people  are  mostly  upon  "pleasure  bent,"  but 
occasionally  one  notes  a  peasant,  man  or  woman, 
bearing  a  couple  of  shining  brass  cans  suspended 
from  the  shoulders  by  a  yoke  with  chains.  There 
are  small  boats,  too,  with  sail  set,  moving  along 
on  temporary  runners,  in  which  stolid  youths  sit 
in  indolent  postures.  The  snow  has  been  clean 


22          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

swept,  leaving  broad  paths  of  fine  dark  ice, 
and  bordering  these  paths  which  lead  out  to  the 
horizon  are  tents,  pavilions  and  wooden  booths, 
in  which  are  sold  hot  drinks  and  "Waffelen," 
dear  to  the  peasants.  There  are  tall  masts  hung 
with  banners  containing  the  names  of  skat- 
ing parties  and  societies  (Skaatzen  rijders),  and 
huge  barrel  organs  operated  in  booths,  by  ma- 
chinery, are  blaring  forth  discordant  sounds. 

Little  by  little  we  leave  all  this  bustle  and 
noise  and  glide  smoothly  along  the  ice  to  the 
music  of  the  string  of  bells  on  the  collar  of  the 
old  brown  horse.  In  less  than  an  hour  we  reach 
a  dark  patch  of  ice,  and  my  driver,  pointing 
ahead,  says:  "So,  I  was  afraid  of  it,"  and  sure 
enough  there  was  an  open  space  in  the  ice, 
stretching  to  the  right  and  left,  and  effectually 
barring  our  pathway.  A  skater  drew  near,  and 
he  and  the  driver  held  an  excited  conversation 
together.  I  gathered  that  we  could  not  get  over 
to  Marken  in  the  sleigh,  but  must  secure  a  boat 
and  be  rowed  there.  We  were  still  a  good  five 
miles  away  from  the  island,  so  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  go  back  to  Monnickendam  or  to  Vol- 


CHRISTMAS  ON  MARKEN  23 

endam,  a  short  distance  up  the  coast.  I  chose 
the  latter,  well  knowing  the  hospitable  recep- 
tion I  should  receive  from  Mynheer  Spaander 
in  his  comfortable  hostelry  .  .  .  that  night  I 
watched  the  skaters  in  the  mellow  light  of  in- 
numerable torches  and  fires  along  the  banks  of 
the  canal,  and  long  after  I  went  to  bed  I  heard 
the  bells,  the  shouts  of  the  skaters  and  the  thou- 
sand and  one  noises  made  by  the  crowds  on  the 
ice.  .  .  . 

In  the  morning,  which  dawned  gray  and  damp, 
I  made  arrangements  with  two  brawny  fishermen 
to  take  me  in  a  boat  from  a  clear  patch  of  water 
a  mile  or  two  farther  on.  This  clear  water,  they 
claimed,  stretched  over  to  Marken  in  a  winding 
curve,  and  to  reach  it  I  must  go  by  horse  sleigh 
to  its  edge.  They  were  to  drag  the  boat  over, 
cutting  straight  across  the  ice,  and  launching  it, 
await  my  coming.  All  of  which  sounded  adven- 
turous and  quite  exciting.  It  proved  so,  taking 
us  the  best  part  of  the  long  day,  during  which 
we  had  to  get  out  three  times  and  drag  out  the 
heavy  boat  on  the  ice  and  pull  it  along  to  where 
the  dark  streak  of  water  showed  ahead.  It  all 


24          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

sounds  very  easy  when  I  write  it  here,  but  a 
harder  day's  work  I  never  did  before  or  since, 
and  when  at  last  we  reached  the  solid  ice 
and  saw  the  masts  of  the  boats  behind  the 
frozen  snow-covered  dike  at  Marken,  where  I 
paid  the  men  for  their  services,  they  refusing  to 
go  further  with  me,  I  left  my  heavy  grip  on  the 
ice  and  trudged  up  the  steep  dike,  and  there 
were  the  houses  of  Marken  before  me.  Here  I 
got  a  youth  to  go  after  my  grip  and  carry  it  up 
to  the  house  of  the  Heer  Pastoor,  who  met  me 
literally  with  open  arms.  In  his  little  clean  liv- 
ing room  I  was  soon  at  home,  and  with  my  shoes 
drying  at  the  brass  fire  box  on  his  blue-tiled 
hearth,  I  gulped  down  prodigious  quantities  of 
hot  tea,  and  there  we  smoked  and  talked  until 
far  into  the  night. 

Finally  we  were  quite  talked  out.  The  heat 
of  the  fire  on  the  blue-tiled  hearth,  which  had 
now  died  down  to  gray  ash,  the  great  quantity 
of  hot  tea  which  I  had  consumed,  and  the  hard 
trip  over  the  ice,  combined  to  make  my  eyelids 
heavy,  and  noticing  my  halting  responses  to  his 
genial  queries,  mine  host  lighted  a  tallow  candle 


CHRISTMAS  ON  MARKEN  25 

in  a  brass  stick  and  showed  me  to  my  bed  in  the 
small  adjoining  room,  the  same  that  I  had  occu- 
pied on  my  previous  visit  to  Marken.  It  was 
built  in  a  recess  in  the  wall.  The  frame  was 
painted  a  vivid  green  and  it  contained  a  huge 
feather  pillow  on  a  bolster,  a  downy  feather  mat- 
tress beneath,  and  to  cover  me  was  a  quilted  cot- 
ton affair  like  unto  a  huge  pin  cushion  enclosed 
in  a  gorgeous  covering  of  printed  cotton  with  a 
pattern  of  roses  as  large  as  lettuce  heads.  On 
the  floor  was  a  strip  of  matting  covering  the  dull 
red  brick  tiles,  each  of  which  measured  nine 
inches  square.  One  small  window  of  four  panes 
opposite  the  door  was  curtained  with  muslin. 
The  walls  were  of  wide  pine  boards  painted 
light  green,  and  set  vertically.  Three  heavy 
beams  crossed  the  ceiling.  Two  large  rush 
bottomed  chairs  with  slatted  backs,  a  washstand 
and  a  huge  carved  cabinet  completed  the  fur- 
nishing of  this  quaint  bedroom.  In  ten  minutes 
I  had  blown  out  the  candle  and  was  in  the  depths 
of  the  feathery  wall-bed.  .  .  . 

When  I  opened  my  eyes,  the  room  was  in  inky 
darkness,  no  light  came  through  the  thin  muslin 


26          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

curtain  of  the  small  window.  I  heard  a  bell 
ringing  clamorously,  and  all  at  once  realized 
that  this  was  Christmas  Day — the  day  of  Sint 
Niklaas  on  Marken.  I  lighted  the  candle  and 
dressed.  On  the  table  of  the  living  room  I  found 
a  tall,  delft,  three-legged  teapot  with  a  piece  of 
candle  underneath  in  a  saucer  all  ready  to  light 
to  heat  the  water,  and  a  large  bowl  of  cold  boiled 
eggs.  This,  with  the  plate  of  rich  cheese,  forms 
the  usual  Marken  breakfast. 

On  the  hearth,  which  was  cleanly  swept,  a 
hot  fire  of  peat  burned  brightly  in  the  brass  fire 
pot.  A  kerosene  lamp  burned  suspended  from 
the  ceiling.  Soon  I  had  finished  my  big  bowl  of 
smoking  hot  tea,  which  I  qualified  with  the 
pitcher  of  rich,  thick,  yellow  cream,  and  then  I 
hastened  toward  the  church,  joining  the  throng 
of  women  and  children  on  the  dike.  Many  of 
them  carried  lanterns.  The  hands  of  the  clock 
on  the  tower  pointed  to  half  past  six  precisely— 
"haalf  seven,"  as  the  peasants  say,  that  is,  half 
of  seven.  Thus  do  they  name  the  hours  of 
Marken. 

Overhead  the  sky  was  a  rich  dark  ultramarine, 


f  J 


WALL  BED  IN  WHICH  I  SLEPT 


CHRISTMAS  ON  MARKEN  27 

while  at  the  horizon  the  color  was  steel  gray. 
The  surface  of  the  Zuyder  Zee  was  of  a  rich 
black  velvety  hue,  against  which  the  snow-cov- 
ered dikes  shone  pallidly  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  Here  and  there  lights  gleamed  in 
the  houses.  All  at  once  the  Northern  Lights 
flamed  out  in  flickering,  trembling  bands  and 
ribbons  of  opalescent  color.  Under  it  the  snow 
gleamed  and  sparkled,  and  under  the  hurrying 
feet  of  the  peasants,  the  snow  crunched  with  a 
ringing  sound  that  was  not  unmusical,  but  which 
set  my  teeth  on  edge  and  sent  shivers  down  my 
spine.  In  the  door  frames  of  the  houses,  I  saw 
small  candle  ends,  some  still  lighted  and  gutter- 
ing, others  had  blown  out,  a  custom  of  Marken 
on  Sint  Niklaas,  his  day. 

I  recognized  among  the  throng  of  peasants  old 
Martje,  her  head  wrapped  in  a  huge  plaid  shawl. 
She  stopped  for  a  moment  before  the  door  of  the 
baker  (Broodbakker)  and  broke  a  china  saucer 
on  the  step — then  passed  on.  I  asked  my  neigh- 
bor the  reason  for  this,  and  she  told  me  that 
Martje  and  the  baker's  wife  had  not  spoken  for 
nearly  a  year,  and  that  this  act  of  breaking  the 


28          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

saucer  on  the  doorstep  ended  the  quarrel,  old 
Martje  thereby  asking  forgiveness  "in  the  sacred 
name  of  God." 

Here  and  there  before  the  houses  poles  were 
set  up  with  large  bunches  of  oats  tied  to  them, 
"so  that  the  birds  of  the  air  might  feed  on  this 
blessed  Christmas  Day."  In  the  east  the  light 
increased  fast,  and  by  the  time  we  reached  the 
church,  day  was  dawning.  The  building  was 
well  filled,  with  women  and  children  principally, 
but  few  men  being  present.  There  was  no  dec- 
oration in  the  church  except  a  large  gilt  star 
over  the  Heer  Pastoor's  chair.  He  was  preach- 
ing as  we  entered  and  his  clear  voice  rang 
out  resonantly.  He  was  telling  his  flock  a 
story — "And  what  have  you  done?"  said  St. 
Peter. 

"Very  little,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"I  was  sick  and  miserable.  It  was  a  hard 
winter;  the  ice  lay  upon  the  water  of  the  Zuy- 
der  Zee  as  far  as  one  could  see.  All  the  people 
walked  upon  it — there  was  skating  and  dancing 
— there  was  music  and  feasting.  I  could  hear  it 
as  I  lay  in  my  bed.  I  looked  across  the  icy 


29 

stretch  of  sea,  and  just  where  sea  met  sky  I  saw  a 
cloud  arise.  I  lay  watching  the  cloud,  and  then 
I  saw  a  black  spot  in  the  middle  of  it  growing 
larger  and  larger,  and  then  I  knew  what  it 
meant,  for  I  am  old  and  experienced,  and  then 
horror  crept  over  me.  Twice  before  I  had  seen 
the  same  thing,  and  I  knew  that  a  terrible  storm 
with  a  high  tide  would  rise  and  swallow  up  those 
poor  people  who  were  drinking,  dancing  and 
singing,  all  so  merrily.  Young  and  old,  the 
whole  town  was  there ;  who  would  warn  them  if 
no  one  noticed  the  sign,  or  knew  what  it  meant 
as  I  did? 

"Greatly  alarmed,  I  felt  such  life  within  me 
as  I  had  not  felt  for  many  a  long  day.  Out  of 
bed  I  got  and  to  the  window.  I  could  hardly 
stand  for  very  weakness,  but  I  managed  to  open 
my  window.  I  saw  the  pretty  flags  waving  in 
the  wind,  I  heard  the  boys  shouting  and  the 
young  girls  and  men  singing.  It  was  merriment 
everywhere,  but  there  was  that  terrible  cloud 
overhead  with  the  black  center.  I  shouted  to 
them  as  loudly  as  I  could,  but  no  one  heard  me;  I 
was  too  far  away.  Soon  the  storm  would  burst 


30          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

upon  them,  the  ice  would  break  up  and  all  who 
were  there  would  be  lost. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  get  out  to  them.  Then 
all  at  once  Heaven  sent  me  the  idea  of  setting 
light  to  my  straw  bed.  Better  burn  the  house 
down  than  so  many  people  should  perish  miser- 
ably. I  succeeded  in  striking  a  light  and  then 
the  flames  leapt  up,  as  I  dragged  myself  out  of 
the  door.  I  fell  near  the  threshold,  unable  to 
stand.  The  flames  darted  out  after  me,  burst 
the  window  and  leapt  high  above  the  roof,  which 
was  all  afire.  All  the  people  on  the  ice  saw  it 
and  came  running  to  the  dike  as  fast  as  they 
could  to  help.  No  one  but  ran  to  help  save  a 
poor  old  woman  who  they  thought  was  being 
burnt  alive.  I  heard  them  coming,  then  I 
felt  a  rush  of  wind  and  a  roaring  sound  like  the 
firing  of  heavy  cannon,  the  ice  split  up  into 
pieces,  the  black  water  shined,  but  the  people 
had  all  reached  the  dike  where  the  sparks  were 
flying  upward.  I  had  saved  them  all,  St.  Peter. 
But  I  suppose  I  could  not  stand  the  cold  or  fright, 
for  I  am  here  come  to  the  gates  of  Heaven." 
Then  St.  Peter  gave  a  sign,  the  Gates  of  Heaven 


CHRISTMAS  ON  MARKEN  31 

opened  and  a  glorious  white  angel  led  in  the  old 
woman  to  everlasting  glory." 

Then  the  Heer  Pastoor  ceased  speaking  and 
sat  down.  The  story  was  just  what  the  people 
liked.  I  could  see  it  in  their  faces.  They  all 
sang  the  Christmas  hymns  with  a  will  and  when 
the  solemn  clerk  passed  the  silk  bag  on  the  end 
of  the  long  pole  before  them,  they  gave  liberally 
of  dubbeltjs  (a  small  silver  coin) . 

Then  the  Heer  Pastoor  pronounced  the  bene- 
diction and  the  service  was  over.  The  bell  rang 
merrily  in  the  tower;  out  of  every  chimney  top, 
even  from  the  smallest  and  humblest  house,  the 
smoke  rose  up  in  streams  into  the  clear,  crisp  air. 
The  sun  came  up  over  the  sea  in  a  great  splen- 
dor and  on  the  fishing  boats  the  red,  white  and 
blue  flags  streamed  gayly  in  the  fresh  breezes. 

Then  the  people  sang  in  unison  the  song  of 
Christmas  joy: 

"Christmas,  Awake!     Salute  the  morn 

Whereon  the  Saviour  of  the  world  was  born ; 
Rise  to  adore  the  mystery  of  love 
Which  hosts  of  angels  chanted  from  above, 
Hallelujah,  Hallelujah!" 


32          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

The  Heer  Pastoor  stood  on  the  step  of  the 
church  watching  his  people  wending  their  ways 
homeward.  His  face  was  grave  as  he  closed  the 
door  and  we  walked  together. 

I  spoke  of  the  story  he  had  told  and  his  face 
lighted  as  he  said,  "Ah,  yes,  Mynheer,  it  is  one 
of  Hans  Christian  Andersen's  wonderful  tales; 
I  love  them  all.  I  tell  them  to  my  people,  they 
understand  them." 

On  the  dike,  before  the  houses,  small  boys  and 
girls,  well  bundled  up  with  bright  scarfs,  were 
building  snowmen  or  dancing  merrily  around 
them,  their  shouts  and  laughter  filling  the  air. 
Troops  of  men  comically  dressed  paraded  arm 
in  arm,  singing,  from  house  to  house.  A  com- 
pany of  musicians  played  before  the  Koffij  huis. 
At  the  bake  shop,  which  was  crowded  with  wide- 
eyed  children,  the  "Koek  bakker"  set  out  rows 
of  gingerbread  figures  of  fat  men  and  women 
with  bright  red  cherries  as  buttons  on  their  jack- 
ets, and  black  currants  for  eyes.  Everyone  who 
came  by  bought  these  cakes  for  the  expectant 
children.  Every  purchaser  got  a  present  of  six 


WAYS  KNITTING 


CHRISTMAS  ON  MARKEN  33 

large  buns  covered  with  white  sugar  and  dotted 
with  raisins. 

In  the  afternoon  I  was  invited  to  an  entertain- 
ment at  the  house  of  the  Heer  Burgomeester. 
When  I  arrived  the  house  was  filled  in  every 
part,  seemingly.  The  young  ladies  and  "Me- 
vrouwe"  received  me  with  great  kindness.  A 
recital  was  taking  place,  and  from  the  hallway 
I  could  see  into  the  living  room,  with  its  varied 
treasures  of  brass  and  china.  A  tall,  thin  young 
man,  a  student  in  "the  School  at  Amsterdam,"  it 
appeared,  and  a  cousin  of  "Mevrouwe,"  was  re- 
citing a  poem  entitled  "The  Aunt's  Spectacles," 
in  which  the  said  spectacles  were  described  as 
enabling  the  person  who  wore  them  in  an  assem- 
bly to  read  their  thoughts  and  to  predict  from 
them  all  that  would  happen  in  the  coming  year. 
The  young  man  addressed  himself  in  turn  to 
those  about  him.  "In  the  heart  of  that  lady 
there,"  he  said,  "I  find  a  millinery  shop.  In  the 
next,  all  is  empty — but  who  knows  what  the  fu- 
ture may  bring.  Now,  then,  I  see  one  in  which 
all  is  genuine  gold."  The  young  girl  at  whom 


34          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

he  gazed,  blushed  and  cast  down  her  eyes, 
whereat  all  around  laughed  heartily  at  her  con- 
fusion. 

"The  only  fault  I  find,"  he  went  on,  "is  that 
it  is  already  occupied  and  there  is  thus  no  room 
for  me."  At  this  there  was  loud  applause. 
Then  he  continued :  "The  next  heart  I  see  is  like 
a  museum.  It  contains  all  the  deformities  of 
all  the  lady's  female  friends — Alas!  Alas! 
Now  I  see  another  heart,  and  this  is  like  unto  a 
holy  church,  the  white  dove  of  innocence  flutters 
over  the  high  altar.  I  would  gladly  kneel  here, 
but  I  have  no  time.  I  must  pass  on  into  the  next 
heart;  the  sound  of  the  organ  is  ringing  in  my 
ears,  so  that  I  feel  not  unworthy  to  enter  into  the 
sanctuary  where  I  see  a  sick  mother  in  a  miser- 
able garret  room,  but  God's  sun  is  shining 
through  the  window,  splendid  roses  are  blooming 
in  a  little  flower  box  on  the  roof,  and  two  blue- 
birds are  singing  of  the  joys  of  childhood,  while 
the  sick  mother  implores  God  to  bless  her  child. 

"The  next  I  see  is  a  butcher's  stall.  Wherever 
I  turn  there  is  nothing  but  meat.  It  is  the  heart 
of  a  rich  man  whose  name  you  know."  At  this 


CHRISTMAS  ON  MARKEN  35 

there  was  an  uneasy  movement  in  the  audience, 
but  the  pallid  young  man  went  on.  "Now  the 
heart  of  this  man's  wife,  it  is  nothing  but  an  old 
dilapidated  pigeon  house.  The  husband's  por- 
trait serves  as  a  weathercock  and  is  connected 
with  the  doors,  so  that  they  open  and  shut 
whenever  he  turns  his  head.  And  here  is  a  cab- 
inet of  mirrors  in  the  next  heart  which  I  see ;  it  is 
like  unto  those  in  the  Queen's  Palace  at  'Het 
Loo!  But  these  mirrors  magnify  to  an  incredi- 
ble degree.  Before  them  sits  the  owner  in  the 
center  of  the  floor  admiring  his  own  greatness." 
I  fancied  that  he  looked  towards  the  Heer  Bur- 
gomeester,  but  I  could  not  be  sure.  This  ended 
the  poem  and  the  pallid  young  man  sat  down, 
wiped  his  forehead  with  a  rather  soiled  handker- 
chief, and  then  spat  into  it,  while  all  the  com- 
pany applauded  long  and  loudly.  Refresh- 
ments were  served  by  buxom,  bare-armed  maids 
in  wonderful  costumes.  "Appel  Kockjes"  and 
"Haalp-en-haalp,"  and  a  particularly  sweet  sort 
of  champagne  which  well-nigh  upset  me,  but 
which  I  dare  not  refuse  because  "Mevrouwe"  was 
watching  every  movement.  There  was  a  great 


36          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

deal  of  singing  of  folk  songs,  some  of  which  I 
tried  to  memorize,  with  little  success,  however, 
and  then  with  hearty  good  wishes  for  the  coming 
year,  and  much  handshaking  on  the  part  of  all 
the  elders,  and  giggling  among  the  girls  and 
young  men,  the  gathering  broke  up,  and  I  went 
back  to  the  little  house  of  the  Heer  Pastoor,  a 
comfortable  fire,  pipes  and  tobacco,  and  his  fru- 
gal but  hearty  hospitality. 


illA 


\  LTHOUGH  Marken  cannot  boast  of  a  reg- 
ular  inn,  it  has  its  favorite  coffee  house 
(Koffij  huis,  they  spell  it) .  The  stranger  would 
not  readily  find  it,  because  it  bears  no  distin- 
guishing sign,  and  its  door  and  windows  resemble 
those  of  its  neighbors,  but  the  observant  eye  sees 
no  row  of  "Klompen"  beside  the  entrance,  and 
this  fact  denotes  its  character.  Entering,  one 
steps  into  a  long,  low,  rather  bare  room  with  a 
well  sanded  floor.  Around  the  three  sides  is  a 
continuous  bench  before  which  are  small  bare  ta- 
bles. There  is  a  raised  fireplace,  over  which 
is  a  mantel,  hooded  with  a  bright  red  calico  nar- 
row curtain  on  a  string.  The  mantel  is  narrow, 

37 


38          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

too,  and  holds  a  motley  collection  of  brass  things 
and  a  half  dozen  beautiful  old  delft  plates  of 
blue  and  violet  tones.  The  walls  of  this  room 
are  rudely  paneled  in  wood  painted  a  dark  red- 
dish brown.  On  the  walls  are  quaint  racks  of 
pipes  dispersed  among  a  great  quantity  of  mugs 
and  platters.  At  the  farther  end,  facing  the  en- 
trance, is  a  sort  of  bar,  behind  which  sits  "Me- 
vrouwe"  placidly  knitting,  with  an  eye  open  to 
the  needs  of  her  customers.  "Mevrouwe"  sees 
all  that  passes,  but  rarely  has  a  word  to  say.  She 
nods  graciously  to  whosoever  enters  her  domain, 
but  of  speech  she  is  chary. 

The  Burgomeester  introduced  me  on  this  occa- 
sion to  the  hospitality  of  the  Koffij  huis,  and 
when  we  had  seated  ourselves  on  one  of  the 
benches  where  we  could  see  whoever  entered, 
and  Katij  had  served  us  with  tobacco  and  small 
glasses  of  "half  en  half"  curagao  and  orange  bit- 
ters, I  noted  a  hanging  board  over  "Mevrouwe's" 
head,  on  which  were  the  words  "Ongelukken 
Komen  nooit  alleen"  (Misfortunes  never  come 
singly)  ;  "Niet  gereken  buiten  den  waard"  (Do 
not  reckon  without  your  host) .  The  Burgomees- 


THE  KOFFIJ  HUIS  39 

ter  followed  my  glance  and  smiled  as  he  said,  "Is 
it  not  true,  Mynheer,  and  is  it  not  good  advice^" 

The  men  began  to  arrive  by  twos  and  threes, 
and  Katij  bustled  in  and  out  serving  coffee  from 
a  long-handled  brass  pot  that  shone  like  gold. 
My  presence  attracted  little  attention,  but  all 
greeted  the  Burgomeester  civilly,  some  of  them 
nodding  to  me,  the  stranger  within  their  gates. 

Reversing  the  natural  order  of  things,  the  com- 
munity of  Marken  may  be  described  as  conveni- 
ent to  the  Koffij  huis,  which  is  to  impute  to  it  a 
relative  importance  not  greater  than  its  due;  for 
the  Koffij  huis  standing  somewhat  aloof  from  the 
"dorf"  on  the  dike,  at  once  sequestered,  yet  con- 
spicuous, is  the  true  center  of  local  interest,  and 
the  instituted  exchange  of  news  and  gossip. 
Marken  has  no  daily  paper — and  needs  none,  in- 
deed. 

A  proverb  on  the  island  reads,  "What  is  the 
news  of  the  day  to  the  frog  in  the  well?"  Nev- 
ertheless, when  news  stirs  the  air  on  Marken,  all 
footsteps  hasten  to  the  Koffij  huis  and  there  it  is 
discussed  placidly,  not  to  say  phlegmatically. 

Marken  is  outwardly  the  ideal  scene-shifter's 


40          MARKEN t  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

village,  all  gables  and  properties,  but  really  it  is 
as  utilitarian  as  one  could  wish.  Events  here 
move  much  as  they  do  in  more  prosaic  and  com- 
monplace villages,  although  the  wondering  tour- 
ist finds  this  hard  to  credit,  but  the  muse  does  not 
hover  over  Marken  to  celebrate  these  picturesque 
aspects.  Old  Niklaas  sitting  in  his  corner,  purl- 
ing on  his  clay  pipe  black  with  age,  and  cogitat- 
ing upon  the  illusions  of  life,  and  the  inscrutable 
purpose  involved  in  the  creation  of  the  flies 
which  annoy  him,  is  typical  of  Marken  life. 
Small  things  assume  great  importance  here,  and 
I  find  that  I,  too,  have  lost  sight  of  the  things  of 
the  great  outside  world,  and  am  busied  with  the 
matters  considered  by  my  neighbors,  such  as  the 
quality  of  the  water  due  to  the  drouth;  the  prob- 
ability of  the  new  tax  on  the  fishing  boats;  ques- 
tions which  are  now  agitating  the  people. 

I  find  that  this  is  a  festal  night  here  in  the  Kof- 
fij  huis.  It  is  the  birthday  celebration  of  old 
Dirk  Torp,  proprietor  of  the  establishment  and 
husband  of  the  placid  vrouwe  who  sits  knitting 
behind  the  bar.  Old  Dirk  is  a  typical  Marken- 
ite;  burly,  sleepy  looking,  and  good  humored. 


)SSIPS 


THE  KOFFIJ  HUIS  41 

It  is  his  custom  on  his  birth-night  to  receive  the 
congratulations  of  his  friends  in  the  Koffij  huis. 
Scrubbed  and  garnished  anew  with  sheen  of  cop- 
per and  brass  and  the  pageantry  of  blue  china, 
the  burnished  kettles  and  pots  make  a  brave 
splendor  on  the  walls  and  shelves;  open  cup- 
boards display  to-night  their  blue  and  white  ce- 
ramic treasures;  the  great  smoke-jack  is  brightly 
polished  against  the  plum-colored  tiles ;  the  large 
green  Zealand  clock,  with  its  carved,  opulent 
mermaids  and  brass  weights,  ticks  solemnly  with 
importance.  The  smoke-colored  rafters  over- 
head display  lines  of  alluring  hams  and  sausage, 
and  on  a  long  table  in  the  center  of  the  room, 
scoured  with  sand  by  the  enthusiastic,  tireless 
arms  of  Katij,  the  platters  of  veal  and  mutton 
and  the  savor  of  rabbit  stewed  with  onions, 
promise  something  out  of  the  ordinary. 

Old  Dirk  Torp  bids  everyone  to  drink  his 
health,  Katij  flies  hither  and  yon  with  double 
handfuls  of  stone  mugs  brimming  with  a  thin 
sour  beer,  pipes  glow  and  tobacco  smoke  arises 
in  clouds,  the  room  fills  up  rapidly,  the  com- 
pany coming  early  and  well-nigh  altogether. 


42          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

Although  clumsy  boors  at  best,  these  men  have 
at  least  stumbled  upon  good  manners  scorned  by 
their  lagging  betters, — they  are  prompt.  Each 
man  in  his  Sunday  best,  clean  shaven,  solemn, 
removed  his  hat  and  hung  it  upon  one  of  the  rows 
of  pegs  as  he  entered,  and  straightway  applied 
himself  with  great  singleness  of  mind  to  the  task 
of  reducing  the  huge  platters  of  meat  and  vege- 
tables to  nothingness;  of  course,  what  else  were 
they  come  for  but  to  do  honor  to  old  Dirk's  ta- 
ble? They  fed  standing.  Custom  had  demon- 
strated that  the  greatest  capacity  for  the 
proper  stowage  of  victuals  is  afforded  by  an  atti- 
tude of  perpendicularity,  and  this  coupled  with 
a  certain  deliberation  accomplishes  wonders  in 
the  way  of  "honoring  the  board." 

One  by  one  the  guests  wiped  their  mouths  with 
the  backs  of  their  hands,  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of 
satisfied  repletion,  and  each  taking  his  refilled 
mug  returned  to  his  chosen  place  against  the 
wall,  where  "girding  up  his  mind"  he  braced  him- 
self for  what  was  to  come.  Now  Mynheer,  the 
Burgomeester,  whose  ruddy  face  shone  as  if 
freshly  buttered,  took  the  floor  by  right  of  his  po- 


THE  KOFFIJ  HUIS  43 

sition  in  the  community,  and  proposed  the  time- 
honored  toast,  which  was  received  by  all  with 
solemn  satisfaction,  and  the  banging  of  mugs  on 
the  tables  : 

"God  above,  ruler  of  all, 
Kings  and  monks  and  beggars  and  us, 
Swimming  ships  in  the  stormy  sea, 
The  earth,  and  all  that  in  it  is, 
Swine  and  cattle,  and  old  oak  tree. 
Old  Dirk  Torp,  I  drink  to  thee. 
Health  and  wealth  I  wish  to  thee, 
And  I  hope  thy  soul  in  Heaven  may  dwell 
With  the  final  stroke  of  passing  bell." 

I  have  translated  this  toast  very  lamely,  I 
know,  but  this  is  the  sense  of  it.  Then  the  Bur- 
gomeester  hid  the  buttery  shininess  of  the  inner 
disk  of  his  ruddy  cheeks  in  his  mug  and  drank  a 
long  deep  draught,  to  the  approving  clatter  of 
the  mugs  on  the  tables.  Chorus  by  the  assem- 
bled company: 

"And  I  hope  thy  soul,"  etc.,  etc. 

"A  fine  and  good  toast,"  said  the  short  cobbler 
on  my  right,  emphatically  banging  his  mug  on 
the  table. 


44          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

"True,  Piet,"  said  the  dike  warden.  "It  has 
a  ring  to  it." 

"There  was  a  soldier  on  shore  to-day,"  said  my 
neighbor  on  the  left,  apropos  of  nothing  what- 
ever. "He  came  over  on  the  Geertje  (the 
packet)  and  he  talked  much;  had  money  in  his 
'zak/  too;  yes,  counting  his  legs  he  was  only  one 
man,  but  as  to  his  tongue! — You'd  a  thought 
'twere  a  company  o'  the  line  with  a  brass  band 
following,  and  the  Prince  of  Orange  at  the  head 
o't.  Talk!" 

"And  where  did  he  go?"  said  the  Burgomees- 
ter. 

"He  supped  with  'Boreeltje,'  (toddy)  and 
went  on  the  last  boat  for  Amsterdam."  This 
was  greeted  with  uproarious  laughter  by  all 
within  hearing,  evidently  a  local  joke  at  the  ex- 
pense of  Boreeltje,  who  sat  at  the  side  of  the  fire- 
place and  grinned  sheepishly. 

A  round  of  applause  followed  the  invitation 
of  old  Niklaas  to  the  schoolmaster  to  favor  the 
company  with  a  song.  Up  got  that  colorless 
person  and  responded  with  a  plaintive  recital  of 
his  adventures  in  the  "Garden  of  Cupid."  It 


THE  KOFFIJ  HUIS  45 

transpired  that  eve,  he  had  been  two  minutes  in 
that  garden,  he  saw  a  pretty  maiden  sitting  in  an 
arbor,  who  received  his  addresses  with  a  timidity 
which  so  emboldened  him  that  he  carried  her 
away  without  hindrance  to  "his  own  very  house," 
where  and  when,  to  his  consternation  and  amaze- 
ment, she  vowed  that  she'd  ever  live  a  virgin 
and  "orange  blossoms  wear."  The  schoolmaster 
gave  such  an  imitation  of  reality  to  the  virgin's 
statements  that,  though  the  assembled  listeners 
had  evidently  heard  it  many  times  before,  they 
pounded  the  tables  with  their  mugs  at  its  finish, 
to  show  their  compassion,  and  he  sat  down 
flushed  with  pleasure.  Then  the  Burgomeester 
turned  to  me  and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  intro- 
duced the  stranger  within  their  gates. 

"Mynheer,"  he  said,  "has  come  to  us  from  far- 
off  America,  from  the  great  New  York.  Myn- 
heer is,  as  you  all  know,  ceen  Schilderer' — that  is, 
'een  Tekenmeester,'  and  although  we  have  not 
hitherto  liked  such  strangers  on  Marken,  Myn- 
heer has  brought  to  us  such  letters  from  Amster- 
dam to  our  Heer  Pastoor,  and  to  myself,  that  we 
have  received  Mynheer,  the  'Schilderer'  as  our 


46          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

friend,  and  we  hope  that  he  will  stop  long 
with  us  and  that  he  will  find  here  on  Marken  all 
that  he  seeks.  And  now,  on  this  occasion  of  the 
celebration  of  the  birthday  of  our  good  friend, 
Dirk  Torp,  I  think  that  we  would  be  glad  to  hear 
from  Mynheer  the  'Schilderer'  from  America, 
something  concerning  that  great  and  wonderful 
city  of  New  York." 

Then  I  told  them  of  the  Statue  of  Liberty  in 
the  Harbor,  of  its  height,  of  the  torch  it  holds 
aloft,  and  of  the  staircase  inside.  I  told  them 
of  the  great  steamships  that  enter  the  harbor 
daily,  of  the  tonnage  of  the  great  ship  Olympic ', 
of  the  number  of  people  accommodated  on  board, 
of  the  tall  buildings  on  Broadway,  of  the  express 
elevators,  and  their  speed.  I  told  them  of 
the  elevated  railways,  of  the  subways  beneath 
the  city,  of  the  tunnels  beneath  the  rivers  and  the 
cars  rushing  through  them  laden  with  thousands 
of  people,  and  much  besides  which  need  not  here 
be  chronicled. 

The  Markenites  listened  with  stupefaction  to 
the  wonders  as  I  unfolded  them,  which  so  en- 
couraged me  that  I  embroidered  the  narrative 


THE  KOFFIJ  HUIS  47 

freely.  I  told  them  of  the  steam  presses  printing 
the  great  Sunday  newspapers,  and  the  enterprise 
of  the  proprietors  in  spreading  these  broadcast 
over  the  country.  I  told  them  of  Burbank  and 
his  wonderful  feats  of  wizardry  with  fruit  and 
vegetables,  of  DeForest  and  Marconi,  and  his 
wireless  telegraphy  by  means  of  which  ships  hun- 
dreds of  miles  apart  on  the  sea  communicated 
with  each  other  with  ease  and  certainty;  of  the 
distances  between  some  of  the  cities  of  the 
United  States  (which  they  knew  as  the  "Ver- 
eenige  Staaten") ,  that  San  Francisco  Was  a  week 
distant  by  fast  train  from  New  York;  and  much 
more  that  I  leave  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader 
of  this  chronicle.  The  stolid  Mynheers  kept  me 
busy  thus  until  after  nine  o'clock,  and  even  then 
some  of  them  were  for  keeping  me  relating  the 
wonders  of  the  great  Metropolis  until  "Me- 
vrouwe,"  who  had  been  placidly  knitting 
throughout  the  narrative,  her  shrewd  twinkling 
old  eyes  fixed  upon  me  at  times  doubtingly,  now 
got  up  from  her  chair,  fixed  her  needles  in  the  big 
soft  blue  ball  of  wool,  and  smoothing  out  her 
apron,  pointed  to  the  clock  significantly.  The 


48          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

cobbler  awoke  from  the  stupor  into  which  my 
wonder  tales  had  plunged  him,  and  stepping  to 
the  door,  opened  it  and  spat  over  the  sill.  "I'll 
tell  you  one  thing,  and  that's  not  two,  we'd  bet- 
ter be  stepping  home  if  we've  had  enough.  The 
sky's  clouding  over  again  like  as  if  the  storm 
might  be  planning  to  give  us  another  drenching. 
There's  a  moon-dog  over  yonder  against  that 
black  cloud  and  the  light  burns  dim  on  the  jetty; 
there's  no  surer  sign  of  rain."  Darkly  piled-up 
masses  of  cloud  hovered  and  drifted  overhead, 
spreading  deep  purple  shadows  over  the  sea, 
gloom  folded  on  gloom,  ready  to  league  with  the 
blackness  of  the  night.  And  just  as  we  turned 
down  the  dike  towards  the  house  of  the  Heer 
Pastoor  whose  guest  I  was,  the  moon  now 
dropped  far  down  towards  the  horizon,  found  a 
little  round  hole  in  a  grim  black  wall,  and 
through  it  flashed  up  obliquely  a  long  bit  of  lam- 
bent silvery  light  shining  sheer  across  the  sky. 
It  set  the  rain  drops  a  twinkling  and  shimmered 
in  the  still,  dark,  sluggish  water  of  the  canal  by 
the  dike.  We  heard  the  voice  of  the  cobbler  now 
farther  down  the  dike  observing,  "It  looks  bad 


THE  KOFFIJ  HUIS  49 

for  the  weather  when  the  moon  makes  a  chimney 
in  the  sky  like  that;  we'll  have  a  wet  night." 
Another  voice  replying,  "I  doubt  we're  not  yet 
done  with  the  thunder." 


ome 


'T^HE  Marken  people  are  intensely  jealous  of 
the  Volendammers,  whom  they  hate  more 
than  any  of  the  other  villagers  on  the  mainland. 
They  call  all  of  the  people  on  the  shore  "foreign- 
ers" and  sniff  contemptuously  when  one  speaks 
of  Broek,  or  Edam,  and  as  for  Purmerend,  those 
Purmerenders  are  quite  beyond  them;  they  really 
are  unable  to  express  their  feelings.  Mention 
of  Alkmaar  and  its  cheese  market,  or  any  of  the 
coast  towns,  will  cause  them  to  regard  you  with 
suspicion,  from  which  you  will  long  suifer  their 
displeasure.  So  that  it  is  best  to  weigh  well 
your  words  and  the  subject  of  your  conversation 
on  the  island,  if  you  value  your  comfort.  In 

50 


IE  PATROON 


SOME  CHARACTERISTICS  51 

all  these  matters  I  was  fortunately  guided  by  my 
good  friend,  Jan  Appel.  The  skipper  of  the 
Vrouwe  Geertje,  too,  cautioned  me  as  to  my  con- 
duct when  he  learned  that  I  contemplated  a  stay 
of  several  weeks  upon  Marken. 

The  sail  over  the  shallow  waters  of  the 
Gouwzee  in  the  Vrouwe  Geertje  is  interesting 
and  picturesque.  The  boat  is  a  typical  fishing 
craft,  clumsy  in  shape,  shining  with  varnish  and 
strips  of  scoured  brass.  It  has  excellent  sailing 
qualities,  and  when  the  huge  oaken  "lee  boards" 
at  each  side  are  dropped,  she  can  sail  up  into  the 
eye  of  the  wind  in  a  remarkable  manner.  The 
sail  takes  about  an  hour  when  the  wind  is  fair, 
but  the  skipper  tells  me  that  in  the  winter  when 
the  Gouwzee  is  frozen  over,  the  distance  be- 
tween Monninkendam  and  the  island  has  been 
covered  in  "four  minutes"  on  skates!  If  I  dis- 
believed this  statement  of  his,  I  took  good  care 
not  to  show  it,  as  he  watched  me  narrowly  to  see 
how  I  took  it.  Then  he  said,  "Those  Volendam- 
mers  will  tell  you  that  it  takes  'twintj'  minutes, 
but  they  are  liars — those  Volendammers."  The 
sail  is  a  somewhat  melancholy  one.  the  water  is  a 


52          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

greenish  yellow,  with  pallid  streaks  in  it.  At 
the  horizon  it  is  a  dull  blue.  There  is  generally 
a  mist  when  it  is  windy,  and  the  sky  is  gray.  In 
sunny  weather  there  are  vast  piled-up  white 
clouds  of  great  beauty  in  the  sky,  and  the 
shadows  go  chasing  each  other  across  the  stretch 
of  water,  alternating  with  bursts  of  brilliant 
sunshine  which  light  up  the  ruddy  colored  sails, 
presenting  unique  marine  pictures  of  great 
beauty.  Large  flocks  of  aquatic  birds  fly  over 
the  shallow  waters,  screaming  over  morsels  of 
fish  floating  on  the  surface,  and  these  the  people 
never  molest,  "it  would  bring  ill  fortune,"  says 
the  Patroon. 

I  asked  him  if  the  story  of  the  mermaid  told  on 
the  shore  was  true,  and  he  became  vehement  in 
his  denial,  attacking  the  Volendammers  anew 
with  vituperation  and  a  surprising  richness  of 
expletives.  "Nothing  but  a  seal,"  he  said,  an 
ordinary  seal  which  had  come  through  the  pas- 
sage between  Hoorn  and  Stavoren,  and  thus 
entered  the  Zuyder  Zee. 

"And  what  became  of  it*?"  I  asked  to  stimulate 
him  anew. 


SOME  CHARACTERISTICS  53 

"Died,  of  course,"  he  rejoined  laconically,  and 
then  spat  overboard. 

"And  is  it  true  that  Stavoren  harbor  was  filled 
up  by  the  dumping  of  a  cargo  of  wheat  from 
Dantzig,  and  that  the  famous  Vrouwenzand  bar 
was  thus  formed?"  I  asked. 

"Not  so,  Mynheer,  no  truth  in  it  whatever,  all 
a  pack  of  Volendam  lies!"  Thus  did  the 
Patroon  of  De  Vrouwe  Geertje  dispose  of  two 
of  the  pet  traditions  of  the  Zuyder  Zee. 

I  pretended  to  believe  him  for  peace'  sake,  and 
he  at  length  recovering  from  his  choler  against 
the  Volendammers,  became  very  loquacious  and 
even  friendly,  instructing  me  in  the  mysteries  of 
the  Marken  dialect  which  presents  untold  diffi- 
culties to  the  foreigner,  for  even  the  Hollander 
himself  can  scarcely  understand  some  of  the 
islanders'  conversation.  Read  this,  as  an  ex- 
ample, and  judge  how  difficult  is  the  dialect. 

"Ja,  en  de  andere'  verlangde  toe  niet  verder 
een  proefje  van  hunne  behendigheid  af  te 
legge !"  (That  is,  "None  are  here  anxious  to  try 
their  skill,  in  conversation")  and  the  pronuncia- 
tion is  indescribable  in  print.  Thus  he  in- 


54          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

structed  me  most  patiently  and  with  great 
gravity,  repeating  over  and  over  again  the  sen- 
tence until  I  mastered  the  "behendigheid"  with 
all  its  mysterious  gutturals  and  aspirates.  Then 
he  proceeded  to  teach  me  a  fine  old  song : 

"Heb  je  can  de  Zilveren  Vloot  wel  gehoord, 

De  Zilveren  Vloot  van  Spanje? 
Die  had  we  veel  spaansche  matten  aan  boord 
En  appeltjes  van  Oranje! 

Piet  Hein,  (three  times) 
Zijn  naam  is  klein, 

Zijn  daden  bennen  grott."     (Twice.) 

Which,  when  I  had  mastered  the  gutturals,  he 
insisted,  that  I  recite  to  him  with  all  possible 
rapidity.  I  discovered  later  that  his  apparent 
interest  in  me  was  really  due  to  his  interest  in  my 
knife,  of  a  Swedish  "barrel"  pattern,  and  this  he 
asked  me  for  quite  calmly  and  with  a  matter-of- 
course  air,  as  if  he  was  sure  that  I  would  not  re- 
fuse him.  He  examined  it  critically,  saying,  "I 
make  no  doubt  it  is  of  good  stuff,"  and  calmly 
put  it  in  his  pocket.  But  he  did,  I  must  admit, 
transfer  part  of  his  regard  for  the  knife  to  its 
former  owner.  If  there  is  anything  that  a 
Marken  skipper  loves  better  than  his  pipe  it  is  a 


SOME  CHARACTERISTICS  55 

good  knife.  Indeed  on  Marken  there  is  an  old 
saying,  ''There  is  good  in  him  whoso  values  iron," 
and  my  expectations  as  to  the  Patroon  were  re- 
alized on  further  acquaintance.  He  told  me 
that  really  he  was  a  Frieslander  born,  but  a 
Markenite  in  thought  and  feeling.  With  this 
confidence  he  lapsed  into  silence  for  some  min- 
utes as  if  repenting  his  confidence  in  me,  but 
upon  feeling  my  knife  in  his  pocket,  he  favored 
me  again  and  seemed  to  care  that  I  should  see 
everything  transpiring  of  interest  to  a  stranger 
and  a  landsman.  Without  looking  in  the  direc- 
tion he  would  suddenly  say,  "There's  a  school  of 
herring  playing  over  to  windward,"  or,  "Those 
streaky  clouds  to  leeward  foretell  a  change  in  the 
wind."  Steering  the  old  brown-sailed  tfjalk 
in  seeming  abstraction,  nothing  really  escaped 
his  eye.  How  he  saw  all  I  could  not  quite  make 
out,  but  see  all  and  everything  he  did.  He  told 
me  a  good  story,  too.  Over  on  Marken  there  was 
a  house  with  a  haunted  room.  Years  and  years 
ago  an  old  Patroon,  who  had  a  sick  wife,  lived 
there.  He  was  a  hard  drinker  and  she  had  a  hard 
and  ready  tongue,  so  between  them  there  was 


56          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

trouble.  It  happened  that  the  Patroon  was  fond 
of  a  good  dinner  and  of  the  company  of  his  cro- 
nies, and  once  a  month  or  so,  at  any  rate  too  fre- 
quently for  the  patience  of  the  "Goed  Vrouwe," 
they  foregathered  for  carousing.  She  com- 
plained and  berated  him  so  that  at  length  he 
built  out  a  small  room  on  piling  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  wherein  he  held  his  carouses.  "All  at 
once"  (here  he  spat  overboard,  was  reflective  for 
a  moment,  then  began  again)  "All  at  once,  Myn- 
heer, it  began." 

"What  began?'  I  asked. 

"Die  eene  doet  allerlei  kunstjes"  (that  one 
which  plays  tricks),  he  said  mysteriously. 
"There  came  a  great  noise  of  breaking  china,  and 
a  loud  banging,  and  when  the  Patroon  rushed 
out  into  the  room  he  saw  the  soup,  the  roast,  the 
bread  and  the  drink  all  in  a  mess  on  the  floor  and 
the  table  upset,  lying  on  its  side.  The  window 
was  open,  too,  on  the  dike.  The  Patroon  went 
upstairs  to  where  his  wife  lay  on  her  bed,  and 
there  was  loud  talking,  so  they  say.  But  soon 
the  Patroon  returned  and  the  table  was  set  anew 
and  another  dinner  was  cooked  while  the  Patroon 


SOME  CHARACTERISTICS  57 

and  his  cronies  sat  outside,  smoking  on  the  bench. 
When,  just  as  all  was  again  ready,  and  the 
"wench"  was  about  to  call  them  into  the  inner 
room,  again  came  the  crash  of  china  and  the 
banging  of  furniture  thrown  about — " 

"You  mean  that  the  dinner  was  again  de- 
stroyed4?" I  asked. 

"Yes,  Mynheer,  again  and  yet  again,  until  the 
Patroon  was  at  length  forced  to  go  to  the  'tap- 
peri  j'  (inn)  and  drink  and  carouse  there  with  his 
cronies." 

"And  then?"  I  asked. 

"Then  the  Patroon  took  her  away  with  him  on 
a  voyage  in  a  lumber  ship  to  Norway,  and  when 
he  came  back  to  Marken  he  was  a  changed  man. 
He  told  everybody  that  his  "Vrouwe"  had  died 
in  Norway  and  was  buried  there.  But  he  did 
not  wear  the  mourning  for  her  very  long.  Soon 
he  invited  the  old  skippers  to  his  house  for  din- 
ner, and  the  table  was  again  set  in  the  small 
room  with  the  window  opening  on  the  dike  at  the 
rear.  A  huge  dinner  was  cooked.  There  was 
bacon  and  greens,  and  stuffed  fowl,  a  blood  pud- 
ding with  cinnamon  dressing,  and  a  'haalf  Jan' 


58          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

of  French  brandy,  'Wat  spijt  het  mij' :  (How 
sorry  I  am  that  I  was  not  there),  he  added  re- 
flectively. 

"And  then?"  I  urged. 

"Then,  once  more  came  the  noise  of  breaking 
china,  and  all  rushing  into  the  room  they  beheld 
the  table  upset  and  the  dinner  all  in  a  mess  on 
the  floor.  Ja,  Mynheer,  everything  destroyed! 
The  bacon  and  the  greens,  the  stuffed  fowl,  the 
blood  pudding  with  cinnamon  dressing,  and  the 
'Haalf  Jan'  of  French  brandy  all  smashed  up  on 
the  floor,  and  the  table  lying  on  its  side  against 
the  wall.  All  looked  at  the  Patroon  standing 
there  with  expressionless  face,  but  they  noted  the 
trembling  of  his  huge  hairy  hands — " 

"And  what  became  of  him,  is  he  still  living  on 
Marken?' 

"Neen,  Mynheer,"  he  rejoined.  "He  went  to 
foreign  parts  I  think ;  Edam,  I  believe,  and  died 
there."  (Note.  Edam  is  on  the  mainland,  only 
a  dozen  or  so  miles  away.) 

"So,  Mynheer,  'Verwonder  u  niet/  (do  not  be 
surprised)  at  anything  you  see  or  hear  on 
Marken." 


SOME  CHARACTERISTICS  59 

And  that  is  all  I  ever  heard  of  the  story.  I 
used  to  go  out  fishing  with  him  in  the  tfjalk  in 
all  sorts  of  weather.  Sometimes  even  away  over 
towards  the  coast  of  Scotland.  He  was  as  im- 
pervious to  cold  as  a  polar  bear,  and  when  the 
wind  blew  a  cold  gale  from  the  northeast,  he 
would  turn  out  in  a  thin  cotton  shirt,  his  furzy 
brown  chest  bare,  and  no  stockings.  At  other 
times  when  the  sun  shone  brassy  on  the  sea,  and 
I  was  stifled  with  the  heat,  out  he  would  come  in 
a  heavy  pea-jacket,  and  sit  smoking  his  short  clay 
pipe  with  a  humorous  eye  cast  on  me. 

Somehow  he  thinks  me  a  humorist,  and  if  I  ask 
him  to  hand  me  the  bread  across  the  table,  he  de- 
tects therein  a  hidden  joke  and  laughs  shyly.  At 
such  times  he  wrinkles  his  forehead  in  a  curious 
manner,  inscrutable  at  first,  but  easy  to  read  once 
you  have  the  key. 

He  loves  to  hear  the  same  story  or  joke  over 
and  over  again,  and  laughs  at  precise  points  of 
the  compass,  just  as  he  would  lay  out  a  course  for 
his  Tjalk,  any  variation  being  abhorrent  to  him. 
He  likes  to  correct  me  when  I  tell  the  story 
differently  (as  I  occasionally  do  for  my  own 


60          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

amusement) .  Sometimes  I  have  stolen  a  march 
upon  him,  and  then  he  acts  like  a  damp  fire- 
cracker, going  off  into  a  sort  of  compromised  ex- 
plosion, sputtering  and  gurgling  down  into  a 
deep  mumbling  noise  between  his  broad  shoul- 
ders, like  the  "rote"  of  the  sea  afar.  But  he  is 
ever  ready  for  you  to  touch  him  off  again  and  yet 
again,  once  you  have  him  magnetized  and  word 
perfect  with  your  story.  This  established,  one 
story  will  last  a  whole  week,  coming  up  regularly 
at  meal  time  in  the  small  clean  cabin  of  the 
^fjalk,  with  the  prismatic  sun  spot  from  the 
glass  skylight  overhead  chasing  back  and  forth 
across  the  orange  oilclothed  table  hinged  to  the 
wall. 

So  it  was  that  I  got  acquainted  with  the 
Patroon,  Jan  Appel,  on  the  way  across  the 
Gouwzee  to  Marken,  in  the  Vrouwe  Geertje. 


BOY  AND  GIRL 


C/^  Y     ff 

iDflCs    s- 
c 

//       cp-    1" 

Joen  ^hte^L 

/^\N  Marken  every  young  man  has  a  fair 
chance  with  the  fair  sex.  If  there  is  no 
coming  out  as  a  ceremony  for  the  young  Marken 
girl,  she  emerges  from  no  cloistered  seclusion, 
and  the  training  of  the  Dutch  boy  is  such  as  to 
make  him  well  able  to  hold  his  own.  Dutch 
chaperons  are  very  human,  and  have  a  friendly 
eye — a  blind  one  for  the  young  people — and 
occasions  are  plentiful  on  Marken  for  their 
meetings.  Of  course  the  formalities  before  and 
after  marriage  are  strange  and  very  different 
from  ours,  and  some  of  them  are  very  elaborate 
and  unique.  Until  the  son  and  daughter  reach 
the  age  of  thirty,  the  consent  of  the  father  is 

61 


62          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

necessary  before  marriage  may  be  contracted  by 
either  party.  Likewise  his  consent  is  sought  for 
an  engagement. 

On  Marken,  then,  where  everyone  knows 
everyone,  there  is  no  necessity  for  an  inquisition 
into  the  financial  standing  of  the  aspirant,  as 
elsewhere  in  the  country,  but  his  tendencies  and 
performances  in  the  past  are  under  scrutiny, — 
"Has  he  frequented  the  'Tapperij'  *?  Is  he  adept 
at  the  fishing?"  These  facts  settled,  then  only 
personal  likings  are  considered.  Long  engage- 
ments are  not  discouraged;  on  the  contrary. 
The  question  of  dowry  never  comes  up.  Dowries 
do  not  obtain  on  Marken,  as  all  the  children 
share  equally  in  whatever  fortune  the  family 
may  have.  So  these  matters  being  disposed  of, 
the  young  couple  send  out  elaborately  litho- 
graphed cards  ornamented  with  red  hearts,  white 
doves,  and  wreaths  of  red  roses,  thus  announc- 
ing their  passion  and  their  decision,  after  which 
they  promenade  publicly  arm  in  arm,  or  hand  in 
hand,  on  the  dike.  Before  engagement  a  scan- 
dal would  ensue  if  a  girl  promenaded  with  a 
young  man.  Girls  may  not  do  more  than  ac- 


THE  "JOEN  PIEZL"  63 

knowledge  a  bow  or  word  from  a  male  acquaint- 
ance on  the  street.  Yet  in  the  winter  on  the  ice, 
convention  is  relaxed  enough  to  permit  a  youth 
and  maid  to  skate  together,  when  otherwise  they 
may  not  walk  in  company. 

There  is  no  word  that  I  know  in  the  Dutch 
language  signifying  courtship.  On  Marken  it 
is  very  conspicuous  to  put  it  mildly,  but 
Mevrouwe  Teerhuis  says  that  there  are  rules  and 
conventions  which  are  rigidly  enforced.  It  may 
be,  and  indeed  is  assumed,  that  these  two  hearts 
beat  fondly  and  solely  for  each  other,  so  oppor- 
tunities are  furnished  for  them  to  hold  hands  to 
their  hearts'  content,  and  most  frankly  before  all 
men  and  women.  They  are  invited  together  to 
the  entertainments  and  they  may  promenade  and 
dance  together  as  much  as  they  wish.  It  is  con- 
sidered a  great  breach  of  etiquette  to  invite  one 
without  the  other.  Then  after  a  week  or  a 
month  of  these  invitations,  custom  varies  with 
the  individuals,  comes  the  ceremony  of  "Joen 
piezl"  by  which  a  young  man  and  his  affianced 
must  go  through  the  ordeal  of  sitting  up  through- 
out the  whole  night  with  a  long  guttering 


64          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

lighted  candle  on  the  table  between  them.  The 
ceremony  is  a  solitary  one  as  the  parents  shut  up 
the  house  and  retire  for  the  night,  leaving  the 
couple  stolidly  sitting  each  in  a  stiff-backed 
chair  on  either  side  of  the  round  table.  They 
are  not  to  speak  until  the  candle  has  burnt  down 
and  gone  out,  leaving  them  in  darkness,  the  as- 
sumption being  that  they  must  indeed  be  very 
much  in  love  or  they  could  not  endure  the  night's 
vigil.  In  the  morning,  in  the  presence  of  the 
whole  family,  and  certain  close  friends  maybe, 
the  couple  are  considered  engaged  for  good  and 
all,  the  young  man  is  welcomed  as  one  of  the 
family,  the  respective  parents  drink  boiled  wine 
together,  and  thenceforward  until  the  day  of 
the  wedding  the  couple  do  pretty  much  as  they 
please. 


'    Q3'  iLJ 

6  CJOtltrid* 


ai/ 


^  I^HE  brick-paved  street  is  bisected  by  in- 
numerable small  "steegs"  or  alleys  and 
flanked  by  strange  dark  gabled  houses  of  tarred 
wood.  For  a  week  past  the  people  have  been 
preparing  for  the  annual  fete.  Some  large  vans 
loaded  on  flat  boats  have  been  brought  from  the 
mainland  amid  great  excitement,  for  such  a 
thing  as  a  real  "Kermis"  has  never  before,  I  am 
told,  happened  on  Marken.  Sheds  and  booths 
are  being  erected  and  a  tawdry  merry-go-round 
put  together  by  swarthy  ill-looking  men.  The 
children  are  spellbound  and  breathless  with  ex- 
citement, as  the  draperies  of  painted  canvas  much 
ornamented  with  heavy  scarlet  fringe  and  pieces 


66          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

of  mirror,  which  flash  alluringly  in  the  sun,  are 
put  in  place.  Household  duties  are  well-nigh 
forgotten  and  groups  of  the  heavy-featured 
women  gaze  in  stolid  wonder  at  the  merchants 
arranging  their  stalls  with  stocks  of  medals, 
rings,  trinkets  and  cheap  charms  which  later  on 
will  sparkle  in  the  flaring  light  of  lamps  or  smok- 
ing naphtha  torches.  They  fairly  ache  to  handle 
and  finger  the  bright  objects  so  full  of  color  and 
allurement.  Marken  loves  color  and  uses  it 
lavishly,  too.  The  streets  have  been  swept  down 
and  washed  so  that  the  bricks  are  immaculately 
clean.  Doorsteps  have  been  scrubbed  and  newly 
washed  muslin  curtains  are  at  the  windows  in 
which  bright  flowers  bloom.  To-night  the  pent 
up  enthusiasm  will  run  wild.  A  huge  steam 
organ  has  been  rehearsing  the  whole  afternoon. 
Something  is  wrong  with  its  mechanism  and  oc- 
casionally raucous  blasts  of  a  few  discordant 
notes  are  borne  far  upon  the  light  breeze.  This 
is  Saturday  and  the  fishing  boats  are  beginning 
to  arrive  in  port  from  the  fishing  grounds  and 
from  Amsterdam  where  their  "fare"  has  been  de- 
livered. As  fast  as  the  boats  are  moored  at  the 


THE  QUEEN'S  BIRTHDAY  67 

jetty  of  the  inner  harbor  and  all  made  shipshape, 
the  men  and  half-grown  boys  in  their  strange  at- 
tire join  the  throng  watching  the  preparations. 
At  the  end  of  the  roadway  below  the  church,  a 
cinematograph  has  been  installed  in  a  discolored 
tent  hung  with  bunting,  and  a  large  sign  on  its 
front  proclaims  it  to  be  "Cinnema-American," 
Admission  "i  dubbeltje."  The  engine  which 
furnishes  the  power  is  set  up  on  a  platform  out- 
side— a  thing  of  brass,  nickle  and  crimson  paint. 
A  row  of  boys  and  girls  are  sitting  entranced  be- 
fore its  flashing  splendors,  dumb  with  wonder, 
watching  every  movement  of  the  man  who  is 
cleaning  up.  The  afternoon  sun  is  casting  long 
blue  tender  shadows  across  the  green  and  golden 
meadows  and  the  dull  red  and  black  roofs  of  the 
villages — giving  lovely  tones  to  the  purple 
blacks  and  the  grays  of  the  walls  and  the  brown 
velvety  sails  of  the  fishing  boats  at  the  dike  end 
.  .  .  voices  and  the  noise  of  hammering  fills  the 
air  ...  the  red  sun  sets  across  the  flashing 
water  of  the  Zuyder  Zee  ...  a  bell  rings  and 
then  all  at  once  '  'Tee-dree-tra-a-a-a-Zing !  Boom 
tar-ra-a-dee!"  the  organ  has  opened  the  fete. 


68          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

The  raucous  strident  racket  dominates,  and  the 
air  is  split  with  its  noise.  Electric  lights  flash 
out  over  the  merry-go-round  and  the  whole  thing 
seems  to  revolve  before  the  eyes  of  the  amazed 
peasants,  who  long,  yet  hesitate,  to  mount  the 
gayly  painted  horses,  griffons,  lions  and  tigers 
which  flash  past  them.  In  vain  do  the  swarthy 
"barkers"  invite  them  to  come  in  and  spend  their 
"dubbeltjes."  They  are  willingly  drawn  to  it 
but — to  spend  money,  Ah!  there's  the  rub.  The 
place  is  filled  almost  to  suffocation,  everybody  is 
in  full  dress,  and  such  silk  hats  and  jackets  as 
are  worn  by  the  men  and  older  boys  beggar  de- 
scription. The  women  are  in  stiff  brocaded  pet- 
ticoats and  their  helmets  are  more  ornate  than 
ever,  crowning  costumes  of  incredible  gorgeous- 
ness.  Unhappy  they  look,  but  they  are  not  so. 
They  do  not  smile  when  they  speak  to  each  other, 
and  the  girls  are  so  very  conscious  of  their  hands 
— such  large  red  hands  they  are,  too,  so  they 
either  hide  them  behind  their  backs  or  standing 
in  groups  hold  on  to  each  other  as  if  they  feared 
something,  one  knows  not  what.  The  young 
men  are  clad  in  tightly  fitting  jackets  which  are 


THE  QUEEN'S  BIRTHDAY  69 

most  absurdly  shortwaisted,  which  seem  to  em- 
barrass their  movements,  and  their  tanned  necks 
are  choked  by  tightly  wound  stiff  stocks  of  ma- 
genta colored  stuff,  gold  buttoned.  But  they 
are  brave  and  really  would  choke  rather  than 
not  be  in  style.  The  occasion  demands  it  of 
them. 

The  girls  who  yesterday  were  working  in  the 
hay  meadows  under  the  hot  sun  are  now  arrayed 
in  their  best  Sunday  costumes  with  ribbons 
streaming  behind  them.  Their  attempts  at 
finery  are  better  done  than  those  of  the  boys,  not- 
withstanding the  restless  red  hands  which  so 
trouble  them.  The  folk  attempt  a  certain  sort 
of  dignity  at  the  start  but  they  cannot  long  stand 
the  strain,  and  soon  a  few  drinks  of  "Genever" 
(gin)  puts  them  at  greater  ease  and  inspires 
such  confidence  as  allows  them  to  forget  them- 
selves somewhat.  They  in  turn  then  transmit 
this  to  others  and  soon  Marken  begins  to  enjoy 
itself.  Some  of  the  children  have  been  given  a 
free  ride  by  the  wily  proprietor  of  the  merry-go- 
round,  and  under  the  flashing,  sputtering  electric 
lights,  they  swing  mounted  on  the  terrible 


yo          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

wooden  animals,  screaming  with  joy.  Now  a 
man  mounts  a  high  step  and  bawls  out  hoarsely, 
"Als't  u  beleift!  Als't  u  beleift!"— "Twaalf 
mal  voor  een  duffeltje" — "Dat  is  de  Prijs  voor 
twaalf  mal!"  "De  Leeuw'  voor  de  Jongen — 
De  hoek  plaats  voor  de  oude!" — and  so  on,  and 
so  on,  while  the  peasants  eye  him  hesitatingly, 
jingling  coin  in  their  capacious  pockets. 

But  little  by  little  his  arguments  and  the  al- 
lurements of  the  merry-go-round  prevail,  and 
ere  long  by  twos  and  threes  they  mount  the 
wooden  beasts,  and  then  the  machinery  begins  to 
move,  the  organ  blares  again,  and  away  they  go 
in  a  paroxysm  of  fearful  joy  with  staring  eyes, 
and  hands  spasmodically  grasping  at  every  avail- 
able protection.  The  two  available  tunes  of  the 
organ  are  so  rapidly  repeated  that  they  crash  and 
run  together  in  a  succession  of  whistles,  groans 
and  roars  interspersed  with  the  incessant  banging 
of  a  drum  with  a  loose  head,  and  the  crash  of 
large  cymbals  both  operated  by  the  mechanism, 
until  the  air  is  filled  with  the  din  and  one's  head1 
buzzes. 

The  rival  attractions  each  endeavor  to  drown 


THE  QUEEN'S  BIRTHDAY  71 

the  other's  noise — for  noise  means  success.  The 
booths  are  thronged,  toys  are  bought  for  the  chil- 
dren, for  everything  must  be  and  is  cheap  and 
gaudy, — dolls  for  the  girls,  and  cakes  and  trum- 
pets for  the  boys  are  arranged  tier  upon  tier  and 
dazzle  the  eyes  by  their  gorgeousness.  Marken 
has  unloosed  its  tight-stringed  money  bags  for 
the  nonce,  and  is  spending  some  of  the  coin  got- 
ten from  the  welcome,  but  hated,  tourist,  and 
the  "Jongen"  are  reaping  a  harvest  of  delight 
and  joy.  Here  the  wheel  of  fortune  whirls  to 
the  deep  excited  breathing  of  the  throng  three 
deep  around  it.  Cheap  watches,  chains  and 
charms  are  heaped  up  in  a  box  beside  it  as  prizes. 
The  operator  shows  a  20  gulden  note  as  the  cap- 
ital prize — but  no  one  so  far  has  won  it.  During 
the  play  the  peasants  see  one  man  apparently 
win  a  watch — but  they  are  skeptical.  The  win- 
ner, although  in  costume,  was  plainly  a  stranger 
and  unknown  to  them.  Such  methods  would 
not  do  on  Marken  and  the  men  told  the  dealer 
so  in  few  words.  Thereafter  his  booth  was  well- 
nigh  deserted.  The  men  of  Marken  are  shrewd ! 
There  are  some  Jews  among  the  merchants  who 


72          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

so  successfully  wheedle  the  passer-by,  being  the 
more  ready  of  tongue  than  the  others.  The 
peasants  dearly  love  an  argument  between  buyer 
and  seller  and  seem  never  to  tire  of  listening,  so 
this  is  one  of  the  means  used  to  attract  their  at- 
tention, a  confederate  being  employed  as  decoy 
and  they  laugh  and  applaud,  now  one,  now  the 
other.  Many  surround  the  stall  where  the  game 
of  Portkantoor  is  in  operation,  a  sort  of  primitive 
roulette  very  popular  among  the  peasantry,  or 
opposite  where  the  people  are  exercising  their 
skill  shooting  at  the  Turk's  head,  "De  Swaart- 
hoofd."  To  gain  a  passage  through  the  crowded, 
narrow  street  is  by  no  means  easy,  for  a  Dutch- 
man during  his  leisure  hour  is  as  immovable  as 
a  rock.  Only  by  a  very  free  use  of  elbows  is  one 
able  to  pass.  At  the  Koffij  huis  down  the  street 
the  glow  from  the  open  door  and  windows  is 
welcoming.  The  interior  is  filled  with  noisy  men 
drinking  Genever  (gin)  and  smoking  the  strong 
tobacco  affected  by  the  Marken  men.  At  a  long 
table  at  one  side  some  Volendam  men  are  eating 
supper.  I  know  them  by  their  rough  astrachan- 
like  woolen  caps  which  they  have  not  removed. 


INTERIOR 


THE  QUEEN'S  BIRTHDAY  73 

The  atmosphere  is  so  heated  and  malodorous 
that  one  can  not  stand  it  long,  but  the  peasant 
does  not  mind  it  in  the  least,  indeed  he  rather 
enjoys  it.  I  remember  rainy  days  on  the  island 
when  the  furious  gusts  of  wind  rendered  walk- 
ing out  of  doors  well-nigh  impossible,  and  I  was 
forced  to  remain  indoors  the  livelong  day,  in  an 
atmosphere  the  quality  of  which  would  not,  I 
fancy,  be  credited  were  I  to  qualify  it  herein,  and 
I  remember  how  I  was  forced  to  adopt  the  use  of 
Marken  tobacco  as  a  sort  of  disinfectant.  All 
tobacco  is,  of  course,  good  to  the  smoker,  but  some 
tobacco  is  certainly  better  than  any  Marken  to- 
bacco. 

Walking  among  the  crowds  of  people  came  the 
Heer  Pastoor  clad  in  decent  black  clothes  and 
tall  rusty  napped  silk  hat,  his  hands  clasped  be- 
hind his  bent  back,  his  eyes  roving  from  group  to 
group,  gravely  smiling  and  nodding  to  the  sa- 
lutes of  his  people,  his  one  care  and  sorrow  the 
heedlessness  of  the  men  and  boys  of  his  flock. 

Marken  is  changing  with  the  increasing  visits 
of  the  tourist,  and  while  these  do  contribute  very 
largely  to  the  prosperity  of  the  settlement,  still 


74          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

the  men  do  not  now  seem  so  well  content  with  the 
old  manners  and  customs,  and  on  Sundays  the 
little  bare,  dismal,  whitewashed  church  shows  in- 
creasingly empty  benches  on  the  men's  side,  and 
the  black  contribution  bag  passed  on  the  end  of 
a  long  pole  is  often  alarmingly  empty.  Not  that 
his  sermons  are  the  less  eloquent,  or  his  pictures 
of  the  eternal  punishment  awaiting  the  trans- 
gressor less  vivid,  but  the  spirit  of  worldliness  is 
fast  undermining  the  structure  which  he  has  been 
at  such  pains  to  rear,  and  the  old  men  and  the 
boys  are  less  amenable  to  his  teachings.  So  on 
this  night  his  heart  seems  heavy  within  him,  and 
he  passes  on  down  the  crowded  noisy  way  to  his 
house  on  the  dike,  where  until  long  after  the  po- 
liceman had  given  the  signal  to  close  the  fete  and 
put  out  the  sizzling  naphtha  lights,  I  saw  his 
kerosene  lamp  burning  in  the  window  of  his  lit- 
tle study. 

There  is  much  eating  and  drinking  by  the  peo- 
ple, of  course,  and  everywhere  about  are  booths 
presided  over  by  shrewd-looking,  bare-armed 
vrouwes  frying  "Ollij-Koekjes" — something  like 
our  crullers— and  "PofTertjes"  and  "Waffeln," 


THE  QUEEN'S  BIRTHDAY  75 

the  latter  baked  between  waffle  irons,  stamped 
with  heart  and  diamond  patterns.  These  are  in 
great  demand,  and  when  besprinkled  with  fine 
powdered  sugar,  are  eagerly  eaten  by  the  men 
and  women.  The  odor  of  the  grease  they  use  in 
cooking  is  nauseating,  but  the  peasants  appar- 
ently do  not  think  so.  Small  stands  are  placed 
here  and  there  among  the  crowds,  each  with  some 
sort  of  chance  game, — "A  cent  a  chance,  come, 
come  good  people  and  try  your  luck,"  the  dealers 
cry,  with  various  uncouth  pleasantries  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  onlookers,  and  this  is  greatly 
enjoyed  by  the  peasants.  Whir  go  the  balls 
and  down  drops  a  number — and  the  lucky  player 
receives  a  more  or  less  "valuable"  gift  to  the  ap- 
plause and  envy  of  the  onlookers.  This  is  a 
great  and  stirring  day  for  Marken.  Round  and 
round  whirls  the  gorgeous  tinsel-bedecked  merry- 
go-round,  bearing  its  noisy,  happy,  boisterous 
throng  of  riders,  while  the  solemn-looking  engi- 
neer, sweating  furiously,  peeps  over  the  red  flan- 
nel curtain  hiding  the  machinery  and  wipes  his 
face.  Crack!  Crack!  go  the  small  Flobert  rifles 
in  the  shooting  booths,  and  clay  pigeons  revolve 


76          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

before  the  targets,  while  the  crowd  pushes  and 
jostles  the  marksmen,  who,  gingerly  holding  the 
rifle  hardly  four  feet  from  the  target,  bang  away 
at  the  objects  of  their  choice,  rarely  hitting  them, 
be  it  said. 

Peddlers  call  out  their  wares  lustily  and  the 
pin-wheel  man  elbows  his  way  about,  bearing 
above  his  head  a  large  straw  frame  stuck  full  of 
bright  paper  roses  and  pin-wheels. 

I  notice  a  little  comedy  at  one  side,  where  sev- 
eral men  have  won  a  lot  of  chinaware  at  a  game 
of  chance,  at  which  they  have  evidently  spent  a 
lot  of  their  hard-earned  "gulden."  Their  wives, 
soundly  berating  them,  are  trying  to  drag  them 
away,  but  with  their  arms  full  of  useless  cups 
and  bowls  they  will  try  for  more.  The  wives 
appeal  to  the  Burgomeester,  who  is  passing,  and 
he  induces  the  men  to  pass  on,  to  the  manifest 
relief  of  their  wives.  I  can  imagine  the  recep- 
tion they  will  get  when  these  Amazons  get  their 
consorts  behind  the  stout  doors  of  their  several 
houses.  The  Marken  woman  is  prone  to  "fuss" 
at  the  slightest  opportunity,  but  now!  here  is  a 
chance  for  true  eloquence.  Cups  and  bowls,  in- 


THE  QUEEN'S  BIRTHDAY  77 

deed!    'Tis  like  bringing  coals  to  Newcastle,  so 
stocked  are  these  houses  with  rare  crockery. 

I  thought  I  heard  a  phonograph  at  one  of  the 
booths  playing,  and  sure  enough  when  I  reached 
it  I  recognized  the  jerky  strains  of  a  version  in 
Dutch  of  "A  Hot  Time  in  the  Old  Town  To- 
night," to  which  the  peasants  listened  with  blank 
stupid  wonder,  then,  as  it  continues,  it  gradually 
has  an  effect  upon  them,  and  the  jerky  notes  of 
the  rollicking  air  stimulate  them  to  join  in,  and 
laughs,  and  discordant  voices,  break  in.  One  of 
the  fishermen  tells  the  others  that  he  has  heard 
it  already  in  Amsterdam,  "many  times."  At 
midnight  the  police  warn  the  proprietor  of  the 
organ  to  cease  playing,  curtains  are  let  down 
over  the  merry-go-round,  the  booth  fronts  are 
closed,  and  the  people  begin  to  disperse.  Away 
from  the  larger  island,  one  sees  the  glare  of  the 
naphtha  lights  against  the  sky,  illuminating  the 
church  tower  and  the  gilded  vane  on  its  top. 
The  lights  are  reflected  in  the  black  waters  of  the 
canals,  and  there  comes  a  clattering  of  "Klom- 
pen"  from  afar.  A  dog  barks  somewhere  and  is 
answered  by  others.  One  by  one  the  lights  go 


78          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

out,  until  only  that  in  the  study  of  the  Heer 
Pastoor  and  the  ruddy  beam  of  the  lantern  in 
the  lighthouse  remain.  A  door  slams  somewhere 
in  the  darkness  and  then  silence  steals  over  Mar- 
ken.  The  Queen's  Birthday  is  over.  God  save 
her  Majesty! 


-tell 


er 


TV /TAN Y  times  during  my  stay  on  the  island  I 
had  overheard  allusions  to  the  story-teller, 
and  I  had  each  time  adroitly  endeavored  to  find 
out  just  when  and  where  I  might  hear  him,  but 
instantly  the  topic  of  conversation  would  be 
changed  and  my  tentative  inquiries  parried  skill- 
fully. It  is  necessary  with  the  peasants  that  one 
should  not  ask  direct  questions  of  them ;  they  are 
so  suspicious  by  nature  that  one  must  approach 
them  in  a  roundabout  manner,  and  thus  only  may 
one  learn  of  that  which  is  hidden  from  the  ken  of 
the  stranger.  I  discovered  by  a  chance  remark 
dropped  by  Marretje  Teerhuis,  who  indeed 
seems  to  know  everything  that  pertained  to  the 

79 


8o          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

community,  past  and  present,  that  the  story- 
teller lived  over  on  the  "Tweede  dorp"  beyond 
the  "polder"  or  sunken  meadow,  and  then  the  rest 
was  easy.  By  means  of  an  influence  over  my 
quondam  friend,  Jan  Appel,  I  induced  him  to 
consent  to  introduce  me  at  one  of  the  seances,  but 
this  was  achieved  only  after  most  difficult  and 
protracted  effort  upon  my  part.  Suffice  it  that 
on  one  very  windy  night,  he  conducted  me  to 
one  of  the  large  houses  on  the  edge  of  the  settle- 
ment, a  house  the  ample  roof  of  which  covered 
several  habitations  under  which  the  water  lapped 
dismally  in  the  darkness.  Evidently  we  were 
expected,  for  at  a  soft  tap  from  my  conductor, 
the  door  was  opened  and  we  were  admitted  into 
a  small  room  furnished  in  the  ordinary  Marken 
fashion.  A  kerosene  lamp  of  glass  in  a  hanging 
frame  over  a  round  table,  and  a  small  peat  fire 
on  the  hearth  were  the  two  objects  that  attracted 
my  attention,  for  the  room  was  very  close,  unusu- 
ally so,  even  for  Marken,  where  a  current  of  air 
is  abhorred  at  night.  On  the  wall  a  very  old 
clock  with  a  painted  dial  and  brass  weights  ticked 
loudly.  The  woman  who  had  admitted  us  re- 


THE  STORY-TELLER  81 

garded  us  fixedly.  Jan  addressed  her  as  Fries je, 
but  I  could  not  catch  what  they  said. 

She  had  a  thick  waist,  and  her  bodice  was  of 
brown  calico  with  large  red  spots,  fastened  so 
tightly  across  her  ample  bosom  that  it  seemed  in 
danger  of  bursting  at  the  slightest  exertion.  She 
wore  on  her  head  a  plaited  round  cap,  beneath 
which  her  waxen  face  with  its  double  chin 
seemed  whiter  than  it  really  was.  She  held  the 
corner  of  her  apron  with  a  large  plump  hand  and 
addressed  vehement  remonstrances  to  Jan. 

"It  must  not  happen  again,"  she  said.  "You 
must  not  do  this.  You  invite  this  stranger 
without  asking  me  first — why  did  you  bring 
him4?  There  may  be  trouble.  Now  then,  take 
him  above  and  then  I'll  see."  She  motioned  to 
the  ladder  which  stood  at  the  side  of  the  small 
room,  its  top  vanishing  in  an  open  trapdoor  in 
the  ceiling.  Jan  motioned  me  to  go  up  before 
him ;  as  I  did  so,  the  woman  left  the  room  by  the 
door  through  which  we  had  entered.  Jan  fol- 
lowed me  up  the  ladder,  and  at  the  top  took  me 
by  the  arm  and  struck  a  match.  The  light  feebly 
revealed  a  large,  dark,  pent  space.  Overhead  I 


82          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

saw  tne  rough  beams  and  the  ridge  pole  propped 
up  by  upright  stout  timbers.  There  was  a  bed 
of  iron  painted  yellow,  partly  hidden  by  a  calico 
curtain.  On  the  uneven  board  floor  was  a  nar- 
row strip  of  threadbare  carpet.  Three  chairs 
and  a  chest  of  drawers  on  which  was  a  china  basin 
and  a  lamp  completed  the  furnishing  of  this  sin- 
ister-looking loft. 

Jan  lighted  the  lamp  and  as  he  turned  toward 
me,  I  saw  on  the  top  of  the  bureau  a  woman's 
long  wrinkled  kid  glove,  looking  as  if  it  had  but 
recently  been  flung  there  by  its  wearer.  Follow- 
ing my  glance,  Jan  saw  the  glove,  and  pulling 
open  one  of  the  drawers  of  the  chest,  into  which 
he  hastily  thrust  it,  he  turned  to  me  and  said, 
"Make  no  noise,  Mynheer — sit  here  until  I  re- 
turn— only  a  moment."  Then  he  disappeared 
down  the  ladder — I  heard  the  door  close  below — 
then  silence. 

An  excitement  gripped  me.  What  sort  of  an 
adventure  was  I  to  have  *?  I  tiptoed  softly  to  one 
of  the  rush-bottomed  chairs  and  sat  down.  Its 
creaking  startled  me.  Something  like  fear — 
nameless — I  don't  know  what,  seized  upon  me — 


THE  STORY-TELLER  83 

gripped  me  with  a  sort  of  terror.  I  was  alone  in 
this  dismal,  silent  house,  late  at  night.  I  had 
not  told  the  Heer  Pastoor  where  I  was  going,  and 
I  was  sorry  for  it,  even  though  I  had  promised 
Jan  to  tell  no  one.  True  I  could  trust  Jan,  at 
least  I  thought  I  could.  He  could  at  best  gain 
nothing  in  luring  me  here.  I  had  nothing  on  my 
person  worth  stealing.  Then  I  ridiculed  my 
fear. 

All  at  once  I  heard  a  sound  which  fairly  froze 
the  blood  in  my  veins  and  made  my  hair  start  up- 
right upon  my  scalp.  The  sound  was  a  long, 
low,  subdued  murmur  of  many  voices  in  unison. 
I  had  once  heard  something  like  it  in  a  theater 
during  the  play  of  "Jean  Valjean,"  when  the 
prisoners,  all  felons,  unseen  by  the  audience,  are 
marching  by  on  the  way  to  the  galleys  chanting 
one  of  the  jargon  songs  of  the  underworld. 

What  was  this  sound  then  that  I  heard,  shut  up 
as  I  was  late  at  night  in  the  garret  of  that  huge, 
nameless  house  on  the  marshes  of  Marken  ?  Fro- 
zen with  terror  then  in  the  chair,  I  gazed 
with  wide  eyes  at  the  dark  end  of  the  garret  space 
from  whence  came  the  sounds.  Then  the  ladder 


84          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

creaked  and  the  capped  head  of  Jan  appeared. 
He  was  in  his  stocking  feet  and  he  motioned  me 
to  remove  my  shoes. 

"Is  er  gevaar?"  (Is  there  any  danger)  I  asked. 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth  to  silence  me, 
then  he  answered  slowly: 

"Er  is  gevaar,  Gij  weet  dat  het  ons  verboden." 
(There  is  some  danger,  you  know  we  are  forbid- 
den.) "Come  softly — do  not  speak.  I  must 
put  out  the  light,  but  I  will  guide  you — do  not 
fear,  but  do  not  speak." 

He  lifted  the  lamp,  turned  down  the  wick,  and 
blew  out  the  flame,  leaving  the  space  wherein  we 
stood  in  inky  blackness.  Then  he  grasped  my 
arm  and  pushed  me  along,  gently  guiding  me  and 
stopping  each  few  steps  to  listen.  I  know  that 
we  came  to  a  doorway,  for  I  felt  the  difference  in 
the  floor  and  my  shoulder  brushed  against  the 
jamb.  I  know  that  we  made  three  turns,  and 
judged  by  the  number  of  my  steps  that  we  went 
some  fifty  feet  before  the  hand  on  my  arm  halted 
me.  I  felt,  too,  a  rush  of  cold  air  and  smelt  the 
odor  of  straw  or  hay,  one  or  the  other. 

"Here  we  are,"  whispered  Jan  in  my  ear, 


D  CRONIES 


THE  STORY-TELLER  85 

"kneel  down  gently,  then  sit  as  softly  and  com- 
fortably as  you  can — make  no  noise — then  I  will 
open  the  trap  and  you  can  see  and  hear.  Mount 
— there  is  a  small  platform  where  you  can  lie  at 
length  beside  me — now — four  steps  up — so/' 
Between  the  loose  boards  of  the  partition  came 
gleams  of  light — I  heard  the  deep  droning  of  a 
voice  below.  Jan  stealthily  and  carefully  op- 
ened a  sort  of  shutter  in  the  wall  a  few  inches, 
and  I  saw  down  into  a  large  room.  Men  and 
women  were  sitting  in  groups  round  the  three  or 
four  kerosene  lamps,  one  of  which  was  smoking, 
that  stood  on  the  tables.  Some  of  the  women 
were  knitting,  several  sat  idly,  their  arms  hang- 
ing, their  heads  turned  toward  an  old  peasant 
whom  I  did  not  recognize,  who  was  speaking  in  a 
deep,  resonant  voice.  Some  of  the  men  were 
standing;  some  were  lying  on  piles  of  marsh  hay. 
These  groups,  all  motionless  and  silent,  looked 
sinister  to  me.  Scarcely  visible  were  some  of 
them  in  the  deep  shadows  and  dim,  flickering 
light  from  the  lamps.  A  pungent  smoke  arose 
which  stung  my  nostrils  and  smarted  my  eyes, 
which  smoke  I  discovered  came  from  a  raised 


86          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

hearth  in  the  very  middle  of  the  room,  on  which 
a  fire  of  peat  burned  in  the  old  fashion.  For  this 
fire  there  was  no  chimney,  the  smoke  passing  to 
the  roof  and  escaping  through  a  square  opening 
left  for  that  purpose.  This  is  the  fashion  in  the 
older  houses  on  the  island. 

The  size  of  the  room,  the  roof  of  which  was 
very  dark  and  somber,  still  further  dimmed  the 
rays  of  light  from  the  lamps,  which  here  and 
there  fell  upon  the  faces  with  a  sinister  effect, 
bringing  out  singular  effects  of  light  and  shade 
which  made  me  think  of  Rembrandt's  art.  Here 
and  there  the  wrinkled  face  of  some  old  crone 
shone  forth,  but  I  saw  mainly  the  strong  faces  of 
men  sharply  defined  when  nearest  the  lamps. 
These  people,  diverse  in  their  attitudes,  all  ex- 
pressed on  their  faces,  so  motionless,  an  absolute 
abandonment  of  their  thoughts  to  the  man  who 
spoke  sitting  somewhere  apart  and  near  the 
sanded  square  upon  which  smoldered  the  peat 
fire.  It  was  a  most  curious  picture  thus  pre- 
sented, and  proved  at  once  the  great  influence 
exercised  over  the  mind  by  those  endowed  with 


THE  STORY-TELLER  87 

the  art  of  the  Story-teller.  For  this  was  the 
Story-teller  of  Marken. 

He  spoke  simply,  making  few  gestures.  At 
first  I  could  understand  but  little,  for  the  dialect 
is  most  obscure,  entirely  so  at  times;  but  as  he 
continued  I  caught  now  and  again  a  sentence 
with  which  I  was  tolerably  familiar,  and  was  thus 
able  to  piece  out  the  narrative. 

"Evil  seemed  the  house,"  he  said.  "But  the 
old  woman  entered,  for  was  not  black  night  com- 
ing on  fast,  and  the  storm  seemed  ready  to  sweep 
all  before  it.  She  asked  for  naught  but  a  shelter 
of  the  robbers,  and  crept  into  a  dark  corner  where 
she  gnawed  a  hard  crust  which  she  pulled  from 
her  pocket.  So  the  robbers  left  her  to  herself  in 
the  corner,  and  there  she  was  forgotten,  while  she 
dozed  off,  and  soon  all  was  quiet.  During  the 
night  she  was  awakened  from  a  sound  sleep  by  a 
noise,  and  she  saw  two  strange  men  with  a  lan- 
tern. Each  of  them  had  a  long,  sharp  knife  in 
his  hand.  She  was  in  fear  of  her  life,  poor  old 
woman,  because  in  those  days  men  ate  human 
flesh  made  into  patties,  but  the  old  woman  re- 


88          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

membered  that  her  skin  was  as  hard  as  leather, 
and  thus  she  comforted  herself  and  put  fear  from 
her,  knowing  that  only  soft  flesh  was  fit  for  pat- 
ties. The  robbers  never  glanced  at  the  corner 
where  she  lay  trembling,  but  passed  on  to  the 
bed  in  the  wall  where  lay  the  tired  traveler  who 
had  carried  the  large  saddle  bags — this  traveler 
who  was  rich,  and  whose  long  cloak  of  fine  cloth 
lay  on  the  settee  beside  the  curtained  bed.  The 
robber  with  the  red  hair  raised  the  lantern  which 
he  carried  and  seized  the  traveler's  foot,  drag- 
ging him  from  the  bed,  while  the  other  one,  who 
was  cursing  and  muttering,  cut  off  his  head  by 
one  stout  blow — bam!  Then  they  took  the 
cloak,  his  purse  from  about  his  waist,  and  the 
cloak  and  saddle  bags,  and  away  they  went,  leav- 
ing the  body  lying  there  upon  the  floor.  The 
poor  old  woman  lay  there  in  the  dark,  trembling 
with  fear,  while  outside  she  heard  whispering 
and  cursing.  What  was  she  to  do? 

"Knowing  not  that  the  good  God  had  put  her 
there  that  she  might  be  the  means  of  punishment 
for  the  wicked  and  evil  doers,  she  thought  she 
must  get  away  quickly,  for  they  might  remember 


THE  STORY-TELLER  89 

that  she  was  there  and  return  to  kill  her.  She 
was  in  bitter  fear,  and  when  one  is  in  this  state 
one  only  thinks  of  saving  oneself.  Is  it  not  so*?" 

There  was  a  loud,  droning  murmur  from  all 
the  men  and  women  in  unison. 

"Then  in  they  came,  softly  creeping,  and  stop- 
ping where  she  lay,  one  lifted  the  lantern  and 
thus  they  regarded  her,  disputing,  'Kill  her 
quickly' — 'No,  I  say  let  her  be,  she  sleeps,  she 
has  seen  nothing/ — 'Kill  her,  I  say!'  'No, 
you  shall  not!' 

"Coming  nearer,  the  first  one  held  up  the  lan- 
tern so  that  it  shone  upon  her,  and  stopped  so  that 
he  listened  to  her  breathing,  but  the  poor  old 
woman  never  winked  an  eye  or  moved,  for  she 
feared  for  her  miserable  life,  which  was  as  pre- 
cious to  her  as  yours  would  be  to  any  of  you. 
1  'She  sleeps,'  said  the  man  with  the  red  beard. 
c  'But  old  ones  are  cunning,'  said  the  one  with 
the  lantern. 

c  'I  can  easily  kill  her,'  said  the  first,  'and  then 
we  can  salt  her  down — ' 

"Now,  the  poor  old  woman  of  course  heard 
every  word  of  this  terrible  talk,  but  she  had  such 


90          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

control  over  herself  that  she  never  moved  an  eye- 
lid. 

1  'Let  us  stick  her  once  with  the  knife,'  said 
the  man  with  the  red  beard,  'and  then  throw  her 
to  the  pigs/ 

"Then  the  old  woman  heard  the  pigs  in  the  pen 
outside  go  'Ugh,  ugh/  and  fear  gripped  her  very 
marrow.  But  she  never  stirred  a  hair.  So  they 
thought  she  slept  and  that  saved  her  life. 

"Then  the  robbers  took  up  the  dead  man, 
wrapped  him  up  in  the  quilt  from  the  bed  and 
carried  him  out,  and  the  old  woman  lying  in 
the  corner  heard  the  pigs  in  the  pen  go  'Ugh, 
ugh.'  .  .  ." 

The  smoke  rising  to  the  roof  from  the  hearth 
was  fast  filling  my  lungs.  In  vain  I  tried  to  sup- 
press it,  but  I  was  forced  to  choke  down  a  stran- 
gled cough.  I  felt  Jan  grip  me  by  the  shoulder, 
and  I  thought  I  saw  one  of  the  women  below 
glance  upward  toward  the  spot  where  we  lay. 

After  an  interval  the  Story-teller  resumed  his 
narrative,  but  for  some  reason  which  I  cannot 
now  comprehend,  the  sweat  started  out  all  over 
me.  What  I  feared  I  do  not  know,  for  these  peo- 


THE  STORY-TELLER  91 

pie  would  not  have  injured  me,  I  think,  even 
though  I  had  been  discovered  lying  there  in  the 
loft.  I  must  have  missed  some  of  the  narrative 
in  my  dismay,  for  by  degrees,  when  I  regained 
my  composure,  I  heard  the  narrator  say : 

"She  behaved  to  them  as  though  nothing  had 
happened  to  her  knowledge,  but  she  had  not 
gone  half  a  mile  when  she  discovered  one  of  the 
robbers  following.  So  she  seated  herself  and 
when  he  came  up  he  said — 'Why  do  you  stop  here 
— what's  the  matter?'  He  was  the  man  with  the 
red  hair — the  worst  one.  But  the  woman  was 
cute — you  shall  see.  'I  am  weary,'  said  she. 
'Could  you  give  me  your  arm — the  arm  of  an 
honest  man?'  So  the  red-haired  man  gave  her 
his  arm,  which  she  took,  and  never  even  trem- 
bled, although  she  was  bitterly  afraid.  So  they 
went  on  and  on  until  they  came  to  the  crossroad, 
and  there — " 

"Has  Mynheer  heard  enough?"  whispered  Jan 
in  my  ear.  "If  so  then  I  think  we  had  better  be 
getting  along — 'Tis  near  to  an  end  now,  and 
some  of  them  will  be  coming  out." 

I  gazed  down  into  the  room  at  the  strange 


92          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

gathering.  The  Story-teller  had  risen  to  his 
feet.  All  the  men  and  women  were  gathered 
around  him,  his  hands  were  lifted  high  above  his 
head,  he  was  whispering  loudly.  I  wanted  to 
stop  where  I  was  to  see  what  was  coming  next, 
but  Jan  gently  forced  me  back  from  the  aperture, 
and  seizing  me  by  the  arm  pushed  me  along 
ahead  of  him.  We  gained  the  inner  room  from 
which  the  ladder  led  downward  through  the  trap 
and  here  we  relighted  the  lamp.  We  then  de- 
scended the  ladder,  and  there  found  the  woman 
who  had  grudgingly  admitted  us.  I  wanted  to 
leave  a  piece  of  silver  for  her,  but  Jan  pushed 
my  hand  back  with  a  frown  of  warning.  I  said 
good  night  to  her  as  she  let  us  out  of  the  door  on 
to  the  dike,  but  she  did  not  look  at  me  or  answer. 
We  went  down  the  steps  at  the  side  of  the  dike 
and  Jan  guided  me  carefully  into  a  boat  which 
was  tied  there  in  the  darkness.  I  could  hardly 
see  my  hand  before  my  face,  but  he  seemed  to 
know  every  inch  of  the  surroundings.  He 
silently  untied  the  boat,  and  without  noise 
sculled  it  away  swiftly  down  the  canal.  We 
were  among  the  tall  rushes,  I  could  feel  them  at 


THE  STORY-TELLER  93 

times  brushing  against  my  shoulder  as  we  went. 
He  did  not  speak  for  fully  five  minutes,  nor  did 
I — it  seemed  longer. 

Then  he  said,  "Mynheer  has  given  me  his 
word  not  to  speak  of  this  on  Marken.  Is  it  not 
so?  So  much  I  have  done  for  Mynheer.  I  have 
kept  my  promise." 

"But  what  was  the  end  of  the  story?"  I  asked 
him,  "I  should  like  to  have  heard  it." 

"Ah,  that  is  not  told  in  one  night,  nor  two,  nor 
three,  Mynheer.  I  myself  have  not  heard  the 
beginning  of  it,  nor  yet  its  end.  And  here  we 
are  at  the  dike  end — I  will  wish  Mynheer  good- 
night— and  I  will  trust  him  to  say  naught  of  this 
while  he  is  on  Marken." 


tat, 


ve 


C7^  '       /*  /£)  /  ^  CY?7^         ' 

Jootttatt  of  UiJ  c// oaztie 

J  cJ 


T II  7"HEN  the  present  chronicler  was  ready  to 
begin  his  painting  the  Heer  Pastoor  un- 
dertook to  smooth  the  way  for  him,  and  indeed 
that  way  would  have  proved  a  hard  one  forsooth 
but  for  his  kindly  offices.  Marken  likes  not  the 
stranger,  albeit  the  stranger  has  proven  such  a 
source  of  revenue,  but  it  must  be  remembered 
that  not  all  the  Markenites  profit  by  the  influx 
of  the  hordes  who  come  by  fishing  boat,  or  by  the 
small  black  puffing  steamboat  daily  from  Am- 
sterdam. Real  Marken  closes  its  doors  when  the 
steamer's  whistle  is  heard  from  the  jetty.  On 
this  occasion  then  the  Heer  Pastoor  stept  to 
the  open  doorway  and  hailed  an  object  on  the 

94 


WILLUM  KOOITJ 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  OLD  MARTJE      95 

dike  outside.  This  object  was  in  the  nature  of  a 
bulky  bale  of  clothes,  and  when  it  turned  at  the 
call,  it  proved  to  be  a  handsome  boy,  whose  body 
was  swelled  out  already  to  the  size  of  a  man's  in 
wide,  cumbersome,  blue  cloth  breeches  and  an  ab- 
surdly short  jacket  of  dark  green  stuff.  This 
boy  had  been  leaning  against  a  board  fence,  with 
hands  in  his  pockets,  motionless  like  a  statuette. 
This  puff  ball-like  object  was  Willum  Kooitj. 
aged  ten.  Stain  the  face  of  one  of  Donatello's 
angels  with  strong  walnut  juice,  and  there  you 
have  Willum.  Kooitj  in  Dutch  means  "caged" 
one,  and  the  name  fitted  him  well.  For  if  ever 
there  was  a  young  imp,  Willum  Kooitj  was  he, 
hidden  in  the  guise  of  a  cherub.  The  Heer 
Pastoor  explained  what  was  wanted  to  Willum 
who  regarded  me  not  at  all.  He  permitted  me 
to  go  along  the  dike  for  some  distance  before  he 
joined  me,  rolling  and  yawing  in  his  gait  in  imi- 
tation of  his  elders  up  one  steeg  or  alley,  then 
down  another,  then  he  mounted  a  wooden  stair- 
way on  the  outside  of  a  house,  threw  open  a  door 
at  the  top  of  it,  dropped  his  "Klompen"  from 
his  blue  stockinged  feet  at  the  threshold,  and 


96          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

called  out  "Vrouwe!  Een  Mynheer!"  Then  in 
an  undertone  he  gave  her  the  message  of  the 
Heer  Pastoor.  She  sat  working  with  a  wooden 
shuttle  at  a  heavy  net.  "Mynheer  is  welcome," 
she  said,  but  there  was  no  cordiality  in  her  voice, 
nor  was  there  any  surprise.  The  word  of  the 
Heer  Pastoor  was  law,  it  was  for  her  to  obey.  I 
laid  five  gulden  in  two  pieces  on  the  table  at  her 
side.  At  this  Willum  gave  the  woman  a  more 
audible  message,  "Mynheer  was  a  painter  from 
America  whose  pockets  were  full  of  money.  He 
wants  to  make  your  picture.  Sit  still  for  him 
and  he'll  make  your  fortune.  The  Heer  Pastoor 
didn't  say  that,  but  it's  so.  He's  got  more  in  his 
pocket,  I  hear  it."  She  heard  him  without  com- 
ment. I  unpacked  my  traps  and  began  work  at 
once — no  need  to  pose  her,  the  picture  was  com- 
plete as  it  was.  Willum,  after  hanging  about 
for  a  while,  contemptuously  took  himself  off 
without  a  word  of  farewell — and  so  began  my 
first  work  on  Marken.  It  was  days  before  I  won 
the  old  dame  over  so  that  she  would  talk  to  me, 
but  finally  I  broke  the  ice  and  gained  her  confi- 
dence. The  Marken  women  are  outwardly  cold 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  OLD  MARTJE      97 

as  icebergs.  Once  they  are  thawed,  however, 
their  natures  beam  upon  one  like  Spanish  sun- 
shine. 

It  was  so  with  this  old  dame  who  wore  the 
curls  of  Marken  made  of  yellow  silk  hanging 
down  at  each  side  of  her  withered,  tanned  old 
face.  What  a  sweet,  wonderful,  powerful  thing 
is  sympathy!  I  often  caught  her  studying  my 
face  while  I  worked.  How  easily  a  woman  can 
discern  sympathy  in  a  man!  A  word  or  two 
from  me  had  completely  disarmed  her,  all  her 
reserve  had  fallen  away  like  a  cloak,  the  old 
woman  gave  me  a  rare  smile,  and  I  knew  that  I 
had  won  her  over. 

The  tale  of  her  sorrowful  life  came  from  her 
thereafter  like  a  flood.  "Trouble,  Mynheer," 
she  cried,  dropping  the  shuttle  and  folding  her 
hands  over  the  heavy  net,  "I  could  not  tell  ye 
all  in  a  week  of  Sundays,  but  listen  if  ye  like  and 
ye  shall  hear."  Then  the  story  of  her  life  came 
forth  quietly  enough  at  first,  then  with  increas- 
ing vehemence.  She  had  brought  twelve  chil- 
dren into  the  world  and  six  of  them  lay  beneath 
the  conical  green  mound  between  the  dikes. 


98          MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

The  man  she  married,  when  a  young  girl,  was 
never  lucky  or  good  at  fishing  and  things  went 
from  bad  to  worse  until  finally  a  heavy  beam  of 
the  nets  in  the  trawler  fell  upon  him  and  he  was 
disabled  for  so  long  that  they  went  into  debt. 
After  that  he  barely  managed  to  find  food  for  the 
family  by  going  out  deep  sea  fishing  for  the 
"company"  (this  is  regarded  as  a  step  down 
the  ladder,  said  company  being  of  Volendam, 
and  of  a  different  faith),  and  even  when  the 
herring  "schooled"  he  never  had  the  good  for- 
tune in  the  catch  which  seemed  to  fall  to  the 
other  men — his  nets  would  rarely  be  full  when 
drawn,  while  those  of  the  others  just  along  side 
would  be  filled  to  the  floats  with  the  fish.  He 
left  her  one  Sunday  night  to  go  aboard  at  the 
dike  end,  and  when  the  boat  returned  the  follow- 
ing Saturday  night  he  did  not  appear,  and  then 
she  asked  the  Patroon — the  latter  told  her  that 
the  man  had  not  shipped  with  them  when  they 
sailed  the  week  before.  And  then  she  told  of 
his  body  being  found  off  the  jetty  floating  in  the 
water  upright  in  his  heavy  boots.  How  it  hap- 
pened was  only  surmise.  It  was  thought  that 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  OLD  MARTJE      99 

he  had  stepped  off  the  pier  in  the  dark  on  that 
gusty,  stormy  Sunday  night  when  he  left  her. 
And  then  one  after  another  the  children  passed 
away — tuberculosis  it  was,  although  she  did  not 
call  it  by  that  name.  The  elder  daughter  mar- 
ried well  and  had  assisted  them,  until  she  too  fell 
into  a  rapid  decline  and  died.  She  worked  far 
into  the  night  at  the  nets  for  the  Volendammers 
who  always  found  fault  with  her  work  and 
cheated  her  because  her  man  was  not  here  to  de- 
fend her.  Finally  all  were  gone  and  she  was 
left  alone,  then  it  was  work,  work,  and  hunger. 
Sometimes  it  was  supperless  to  bed  or  beg  of  the 
neighbors — but  "Gott  ik  dank"  she  had  never 
done  that. 

And  so  the  story  of  misfortune,  hunger,  cold 
and  death  poured  forth  and  became  real  to  the 
listener,  and  the  painting,  when  finished,  went 
to  a  dealer  on  the  Kalverstraat  in  Amsterdam, 
who  thought  so  well  of  it  that  he  bought  it.  The 
Heer  Pastoor  tells  me  in  the  letter  which  fol- 
lowed me  to  America,  that  with  the  compara- 
tively small  sum  of  money  old  Martje's  comfort 
is  assured  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  that  is  to  say 


ioo        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

as  much  comfort  as  her  daily  bread  will  bring 
her,  and  so  the  portrait  was  good  for  something 
after  all.  And  it  transpired  that  Willum 
Kooitj,  who  made  it  his  business  to  know  all  that 
transpired  on  Marken,  got  wind  of  the  matter, 
excepting  certain  details,  and  told  it  circum- 
stantially, and  with  a  deal  of  embroidery  in 
which  he  personally  figured,  on  the  dike  to  the 
men  and  over  the  fences  to  the  women.  Willum 
when  he  felt  like  it  was  a  born  "raconteur"  and 
of  repute  even  in  Marken  where  there  are  dozens 
who  practice  the  art.  Willum  told  it  again  and 
again,  and  with  each  repetition  it  gained  some- 
thing. Then  inferior  narrators  essayed  it  and 
thus  it  circulated.  This  then  is  the  reason  why 
Marken  thereafter  opened  its  doors  to  the 
painter. 


One  cTt 

?      '        <7?    * 

jpsffinn    c  J  1  PPT 

y  i^  t--  uc/  t-c/       ^x    t'C'C'L- 
cs 

boats  sailed  from  the  jetty  that  Wed- 
nesday  night  at  sundown.  I  was  in  the 
Patroon's  boat  by  way  of  special  courtesy. 
Morning,  cold,  gray  and  gusty,  saw  us  off  the 
Texel  half  way  from  Wieringen.  The  other 
eight  boats  were  tossing  on  the  dull  greenish-gray 
water  to  the  westward,  their  sails  gleaming  redly 
against  the  sky.  Two  Stavoren  boats  were  hov- 
ering near  us,  to  the  manifest  wrath  of  the 
Patroon.  To  the  westward  we  saw  the  smoke  of 
a  steam  trawler  and  in  half  an  hour  her  hull  was 
tossing  up  and  down  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
of  us.  The  Patroon  swore  in  his  yellow  beard 
and  spat  overboard. 

101 


102        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

The  lanterns  of  the  trawler  had  not  been 
turned  out  although  it  was  an  hour  past  sunrise. 
The  trawler  was  from  Ghoole,  and  her  nets  hung 
from  the  forward  mast  rusty  brown  in  the  gray 
light.  Now  and  then  she  dipped  her  rusty  fore- 
foot into  the  brine,  and  tossed  it  in  an  emerald 
and  white  shower  over  her  fore  deck.  The 
water  ran  from  her  scuppers  in  a  creamy  yellow 
froth.  In  the  iron  cage  on  the  fore  pole  was  a 
fisherman  in  yellow  oilskins,  his  face  showing 
as  a  spot  of  red  under  his  tarpaulin  hat.  This 
man  was  the  lookout  on  the  watch  for  the  her- 
ring. All  at  once  the  trawler's  chain  cable  rat- 
tled in  the  hawse  pipes  and  her  anchor  dropped 
in  eight  fathom  of  water.  I  asked  a  question  of 
the  Patroon;  the  only  answer  I  got  was  a  single 
puff  of  smoke  from  his  lips.  He  gave  an  order 
to  the  four  men  in  the  bow  of  the  "bom"  (a  wide, 
flat-bottomed  fishing  boat  with  lee  boards),  up 
went  our  tanned  jib  flapping  in  the  stifT  breeze, 
and  away  we  went  before  the  wind.  In  twenty 
minutes  we  had  left  the  steam  trawler  wallow- 
ing far  behind  in  the  greeny  yellow  waters,  and 
fetched  up  the  gap  of  the  Helder  through  which 


YOUNG  MOTHER  AND  CHILD 


THE  HERRING  FLEET  103 

we  at  length  gained  the  open  sea.  The  light 
fishing  boats  followed  our  lead  in  a  line.  All  at 
once  we  rounded  up  and,  dropping  our  jib  and 
mainsail,  lay  head  to  the  seas  in  a  smoother  strip 
of  water.  The  men  jumped  to  the  nets  and 
hauled  at  them  seemingly  without  order,  but  I 
saw  finally  that  there  was  method  in  their  han- 
dling. The  skipper  vouchsafed  the  information 
that  there  was  two  fathom  of  water  under  our 
keel,  and  that  he  expected  herring  shortly.  I 
watched  the  men  at  the  nets.  A  herring  net  is 
some  fifty  feet  long  and  twelve  deep.  When 
cast  overboard  it  sinks  to  a  vertical  wall  weighed 
down  by  "sinkers"  and  held  upright  by  corks  and 
floats.  The  nets  are  usually  fastened  to  each 
other  by  heavy  rope  laid  out  over  the  side  on  a 
roller.  The  boat  drifts  with  the  tide  dragging 
the  nets,  and  the  fishermen  watch  the  floats  for 
a  sign  of  resistance.  The  herring  lie  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sea  occasionally  rising  to  play.  It  is 
then  the  men  so  play  the  purse  strings  or  lines 
that  they  bring  the  circumference  of  the  nets 
around  the  school  of  fish  and  then  haul  in  madly 
with  hoarse  cries  and  gutturals.  One  of  the 


io4        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

boats  astern  hauled  up  a  blue  flag  which  snapped 
in  the  breeze.  A  quick  glance  and  a  word  from 
the  Patroon  and  our  boat,  under  rapidly  hauled 
up  jib  and  mainsail,  fell  away  before  the  wind 
and  bore  down  the  line  to  the  blue  flag,  drag- 
ging our  wall  of  nets  astern.  We  bore  up  under 
her  lee,  a  line  went  whizzing  over  the  dozen  feet 
or  so  that  separated  us,  was  caught  by  willing, 
ready  hands  and  we  fell  away  from  her.  We 
were  in  the  midst  of  a  large  school  which  had 
gone  down,  so  said  the  Patroon.  The  men 
hauled  in  the  ropes  and  the  nets  began  to  rise  to 
the  surface.  All  at  once  the  men  sent  up  a  yell 
of  glee.  All  around  us  was  a  gleam  of  silver — 
then  flashing  of  light — the  herring  were  in  the 
net!  The  surface  of  the  water  was  alive  with 
fish  gleaming  like  molten  silver.  The  men 
worked  madly,  singing  together  and  working  in 
unison,  each  man  in  his  place.  The  well  was 
soon  full  of  jumping  fish.  The  net  was  so  full 
of  herring  that  the  meshes  broke  with  their 
weight.  All  around  huge  cod  and  dogfish 
jumped  and  snapped  among  them.  The  end  of 
the  net  tore  away  with  the  great  weight,  and 


THE  HERRING  FLEET  105 

barrels  of  fish  got  away,  but  there  was  enough 
and  plenty  saved.  The  Patroon  then  gave  the 
word  and  the  men  sprang  to  the  windlass  and 
hauled  the  net  on  board,  the  fish  falling  in  show- 
ers of  silver  all  around  and  covering  the  deck. 
Up  went  our  jib  and  foresail  and  we  bore  away 
leaving  the  other  boats  busily  hauling  in  the  fish 
which  were  "schooling"  all  about  us.  The 
Patroon  motioned  to  me  and  we  went  below  for 
coffee.  We  drank  a  hot  bowl  apiece  and  curled 
up  on  the  damp  mattresses  on  the  floor  for  a  good 
sleep.  We  had  secured  our  fare  and  were  bound 
home  to  Marken.  When  I  awoke  it  was  night- 
fall. The  "bom"  was  creeping  along  under  a 
smart  breeze,  the  blue  flag  snapping  at  our  mast- 
head. Just  ahead  was  the  jetty  of  Marken  only 
a  mile  or  two  away. 


yO 

e   uieat 

cJ 


TT  happened  on  the  last  Sunday  of  the  month 
•*•  of  September.  The  sun  had  been  shining  all 
day  and  the  sound  of  the  church  bells  of  Volen- 
dam  and  Edam  was  carried  along  by  the  whis- 
tling wind  in  a  chain  of  sweet  sounds.  On 
Marken  the  service  was  over,  and  the  congrega- 
tion passed  out  along  the  brick-paved  roadway 
which  leads  to  the  cemetery  where  now  not  a 
tree  or  bush  is  to  be  found  since  the  solitary  pop- 
lar blew  down.  No  flowers  are  planted  there, 
and  there  is  not  even  a  wreath  to  be  found  upon 
the  mound  under  which  are  the  graves.  The 
mound  is  enclosed  by  a  high  iron  fence,  in  which 
is  a  tall  gate,  and  is  entirely  surrounded  by  water. 

106 


THE  GREAT  STORM  107 

A  rough  bridge  of  planks  gives  access  to  this  sad- 
looking  island,  so  bleak  and  desolate  looking. 
Rank  grayish-green  grass  tossed  by  the  wind 
grows  thickly  over  the  conical  mound.  Some  of 
the  women  pause  for  a  moment  on  reaching  the 
small  bridge  leading  to  it.  The  men  pass  on 
stolidly  to  the  road  leading  to  the  dike  where 
the  fishing  boats  are  made  fast  all  in  a  row,  their 
red  flags  streaming  in  the  wind.  Thin  wisps  of 
smoke  rise  from  some  of  the  chimneys  of  the 
houses.  Strings  of  fish  drying  flap  and  beat 
violently  against  the  tarred  walls.  The  sun 
goes  down  in  a  great  blaze  of  crimson,  green  and 
violet — night  comes  on.  The  men  in  the  dike 
end  are  busy  making  everything  fast  and  ship- 
shape about  the  boats,  for  the  wind  is  coming 
now  in  fierce  gusts.  The  Zuyder  Zee  is  wind- 
swept and  of  a  dark  brown  color,  over  which 
white  crests  of  foam  rise  high  in  the  air  and  scat- 
ter before  the  blasts.  There  is  a  swelling  roar 
in  the  air,  a  moaning  wail  long-drawn  sounds 
amid  the  boom  of  the  waves  dashing  on  the 
stones  of  the  dike.  The  fishermen  along  the  dike 
in  twos  and  threes  lean  towards  the  blasts  as  they 


io8        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

make  their  way  towards  the  houses.  Doors  and 
shutters  are  slamming  and  the  wind  shakes  the 
squatty  wooden  houses  on  their  pile  foundations. 

Night  came  on  and  the  Pastoor  and  I  sat  in 
the  window  of  his  sitting  room  watching  the  dike 
and  the  tossing  boats  tugging  at  their  moorings 
there.  The  storm  continued  to  sweep  over  the 
sea  with  undiminished  fury.  There  came  a  tap- 
ping at  the  door,  the  latch  lifted  and  the  door 
flew  violently  open,  and  a  man  stumbled  in. 
When  he  caught  his  breath,  pointing  over  his 
shoulder,  he  said,  "A  man  has  come  ashore  on 
the  dike  end.  Will  the  Heer  Pastoor  come?" 
On  the  dike  we  found  a  knot  of  fishermen  who 
made  way  for  the  Heer  Pastoor.  Lying  on  his 
back  was  the  body  of  a  man,  heavily  bearded, 
clad  in  rough  water-soaked  clothing  and  heavy 
sea  boots.  His  eyes  were  half  open  and  gleamed 
in  the  light  of  the  lantern  which  one  of  the  men 
held. 

"Quite  dead,  Mynheer,"  said  one  of  the  men. 
"There  must  be  a  wreck  somewhere  out  yon- 
der." He  pointed  out  over  the  wild  waters  of 
the  Zuyder  Zee  now  gleaming  in  the  moonlight, 


THE  GREAT  STORM  109 

for  the  heavy  clouds  had  been  blown  away  to 
the  westward.  But  there  was  no  visible  sign 
of  any  vessel  or  object  there  on  the  tossing 
water. 

The  Heer  Pastoor  knelt  down  beside  the  poor 
water-soaked  body,  placed  the  limp  hands  across 
its  breast,  and  then  raised  his  own  thin  brown 
hands  in  silent  supplication  to  the  Father  of  all, 
while  the  fishermen  uncovered  their  bowed 
heads.  Then  they  covered  the  body  with  a  quilt 
and  two  of  the  men  bore  it  away  to  the  church. 
All  the  long  night  the  storm  raged.  I  slept  but 
little,  and  even  in  my  troubled  dreams  I  was 
conscious  of  its  fury.  In  the  morning  I  found 
the  Heer  Pastoor  awaiting  me  in  the  small  sit- 
ting room  where  we  ate  (Beneden-Kamer) . 
He  had  already  been  at  the  church,  and  although 
it  was  but  nine  o'clock  the  body  of  the  sailor  had 
been  placed  beneath  the  small  green  mound  in 
the  presence  of  the  Heer  Burgomeester.  Noth- 
ing was  found  upon  the  body  to  identify  it,  nor 
was  there  any  wreckage  on  the  dike  to  show  that 
a  vessel  had  gone  down.  "Another  mystery  of 
the  sea,  Mynheer,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head 


no        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

sadly.  "This  is  the  seventh  since  I  have  been 
here,  and  of  these  not  one  has  ever  been  identi- 
fied. They  come  to  Marken.  Why?  That  is 
a  mystery." 

On  the  dike  end  I  joined  the  men  sitting  in  the 
sun.  They  were  talking  of  the  drowned  sailor. 
They  spoke  of  something  which  excited  my 
curiosity.  Now  on  Marken  if  you  would  satisfy 
your  curiosity,  do  not  seem  to  desire  informa- 
tion, particularly  when  the  men  are  gathered 
together.  I  listened  eagerly,  pretending  indif- 
ference. I  then  sought  old  Gerrit  Willemzoon, 
whom  I  found  sitting  before  his  door  busy  over 
his  sail  with  awl  and  twine.  To  him  I  adroitly 
made  known  my  curiosity  as  to  what  I  had  heard 
the  men  discussing  on  the  dike.  When  he  had 
lighted  the  cigar  I  gave  him,  he  said,  "What 
Mynheer  has  heard  is  true,  I  know  it.  When  a 
dead  body  has  come  ashore,  as  they  all  do  in  the 
Zuyder  Zee,  we  first  look  to  see  if  he  sucks  his 
thumb,  for  if  so  then  he  is  a  sailor,  and  the  sea 
will  not  rest  until  it  gets  him  back.  He  must  be 
put  back  or  the  storm  will  not  abate.  And  if  he 


JUST  BOYS 


THE  GREAT  STORM  in 

be  buried,  and  the  storm  continues,  then  he  is 
known  by  us  to  be  of  the  sea  which  claims  him. 
It  is  so,  Mynheer.  I  know  it." 

"Then  this  man  was  not  a  seaman,"  I  said, 
"for  the  storm  has  passed  with  the  night.  See 
how  bright  the  sun  shines,  and  how  clear  is  the 
sky!"  He  did  not  look  at  me,  but  he  said, 
"Even  so,  Mynheer,  he  was  of  the  sea — I  know 
it,"  and  would  say  no  more. 

At  noon  the  Heer  Pastoor  returned  to  the 
house  and  we  dined  together.  He  was  unusu- 
ally silent  and  preoccupied. 

I  told  him  of  the  things  I  had  overheard  on 
the  dike,  and  of  my  conversation  with  old 
Gerrit  Willemzoon.  He  seemed  troubled  at 
this,  and  when  I  asked  him  pointblank  if  what 
Gerrit  had  told  me  of  the  matter  was  true,  he 
evaded  my  question,  and  begged  me  not  to  in- 
quire too  deeply  into  the  superstitions  of  the 
fishermen.  "It  were  better  not,"  he  said,  add- 
ing, "We  have  an  old  proverb,  Mynheer,  which 
says  'Wat  beter  kars  of  bril  als'  de  uil  niet  sien 
wil' :  (of  what  use  are  candles  and  spectacles 


ii2        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

when  the  owl  will  not  see) .  By  which  I  under- 
stood that  he  did  not  wish  to  commit  himself  in 
the  matter. 

However,  I  found  that  imp,  Willum  Kooitj, 
of  whom  I  had  made  use  on  other  occasions,  and 
by  dint  of  questioning  him,  I  learned  that  he 
had  seen  the  men  at  the  mound  again  after  the 
Heer  Pastoor  had  prayed  over  the  sailor's  body 
in  the  church,  that  he  had  hidden  behind  the 
shed  opposite,  and  that  "they"  (meaning  the 
men,  he  would  not  specify  them  further)  had 
opened  the  door  in  the  mound  and  removed  the 
body,  that  when  "they"  examined  it,  "they" 
found  the  sailor's  thumb  in  his  mouth,  and  that 
they  then  carried  him  down  to  the  dike  and  put 
him  in  the  sea.  No  amount  of  questioning  him 
elicited  anything  further  other  than  a  recapitu- 
lation. Willum  seemed  to  fear  that  he  had 
said  too  much  already,  and  although  I  gave  him 
a  silver  gulden,  he  seemed  dumb  with  fright. 
Thereafter  he  shunned  me  for  a  time,  and  I 
learned  no  more  of  the  matter. 


m 

1 

elany  6 

c/  attune- 

house  is  like  all  the  others  outside,  one 
story,  black  with  a  tiled  roof,  containing 
two,  three  or  four  rooms.  Of  these  the  kitchen 
or  living  room  is  the  largest.  The  ceiling  is  of 
rough  smoked-colored  and  time-stained  spruce 
boards,  the  gable  facing  the  brick-paved  road- 
way. Through  the  small  square  green  shut- 
tered window  with  its  lace  curtain,  I  can  see  the 
mast  of  a  fishing  boat  which  is  moored  at  the 
dike.  The  room  is  fairly  crammed  with  treas- 
ures of  blue  china,  copper  and  brass,  the  latter 
polished  and  gleaming  like  gold.  From  the 
rafters  hang  lines  of  jugs,  dried  fish,  and  hams. 
The  chimney-piece  is  of  old,  old  blue  tiles,  each 

"3 


H4        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

one  with  a  different  picture  of  figures,  trees, 
cows,  boats  and  quaintly  drawn  tulips.  There 
is  a  small  narrow  shelf  midway  over  the  fire- 
place, under  which  is  a  short  curtain  of  plum- 
colored  calico  gathered  on  a  rod.  At  either  side 
of  the  fireplace  is  a  row  of  six  plum-colored 
tiles  depicting  Biblical  scenes.  At  the  back  of 
the  fireplace  is  an  iron  plate  smooth  and  pol- 
ished reflecting  the  copper  kettle  suspended  on  a 
hooked  chain  over  a  fire  box  of  brass,  containing 
a  few  lumps  of  "stone  coal"  as  the  islanders  call 
it  to  distinguish  it  from  peat,  which  is  often 
used.  The  hearth  is  of  black  tile  in  one  piece 
polished  by  frequent  rubbing.  Around  this  are 
arranged  five  other  large  flat  tiles  of  dull  red  as  a 
sort  of  framework.  At  either  side  in  the  angles 
are  severally  a  china  foot  stove  of  quaint  form, 
and  a  sort  of  low  stool  upon  which  is  a  copper 
brasier  on  which  is  set  a  tall  conical  kettle  of 
copper  fashioned  in  a  unique  design  and  showing 
rude,  hammered,  rivet  heads.  At  the  right  in  the 
angle  formed  by  back  wall  and  window  stands 
a  low  rush-bottomed  "fiddle  back"  chair.  Be- 
side it  is  a  locker  like  that  in  a  ship's  cabin  show- 


MELANirS  FORTUNE  1 1 5 

ing  brass  handles.  Above  this  are  three  narrow 
shelves  crammed  with  blue  plates  and  saucers 
standing  upright,  the  spaces  about  them  filled 
with  small  daguerreotypes  of  quaintly  costumed 
Dutch  peasants.  Above  is  a  mirror  in  two  com- 
partments in  a  carved  black  frame,  the  upper 
panel  showing  a  painting  of  an  antique  sleigh 
surmounted  by  a  yellow  coach  body  in  the  win- 
dow of  which  is  seen  a  bonneted  female  waving 
a  handkerchief.  The  sleigh  is  drawn  by  a  huge 
hollow-backed  Flemish  horse  astride  of  which  is 
the  driver  in  a  "stove-pipe"  hat.  The  sky  is  a 
vivid  blue  against  which  the  steam  from  the 
horse's  red  nostrils  appears  in  clouds.  Below  it 
hangs  a  carved  boxwood  pipe  rack  from  which 
depend  three  long  "church  wardens."  There  is 
also  a  well  filled  twine  box  of  mahogany  on  the 
front  of  which  in  brass  nails  is  the  date  1726, 
and  the  letters  W.  N. 

Under  the  window  is  an  eight-legged  table 
covered  with  orange  oilcloth.  The  floor  is  of 
wide  hewn  planks  painted  a  dark  brown  and 
varnished  thickly.  At  the  left  of  the  chimney 
is  the  walled-in  bed  in  a  shallow  recess.  This 


n6        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

bed  slopes  sharply  from  the  head  to  the  foot. 
It  is  spread  with  a  gayly  embroidered  quilt  of 
coarse  canvas  like  linen,  stitched  in  large  squares, 
something  like  Russian  work.  Over  it  a  sheet  of 
linen  is  turned  down  some  dozen  inches  at  the 
top.  Here  are  mounted  two  large  feather  pil- 
lows, the  cases  embroidered  quaintly  in  blue  and 
red  wool.  At  the  foot  is  a  huge  thick  feather 
covering,  beneath  which  the  occupant  undoubt- 
edly swelters.  It  resembles  a  rolled-up  mat- 
tress in  size,  and  I  have  never  yet  seen  a  peasant 
bed  without  one.  There  is  a  sliding  door  to  this 
bed,  so  that  once  between  the  covers,  Mynheer 
or  Mevrouwe  may  pull  it  to  and  therein  swelter 
in  security.  A  strip  of  China  matting  is  laid  here 
before  the  bed,  and  two  high-backed  slatted 
chairs  painted  a  bright  green,  with  rush  seats  and 
spindled  legs  are  against  the  sliding  door. 

Above  the  bed  is  a  long  narrow  shelf  on  which 
stand  six  brass  candlesticks  of  varied  form  all 
brightly  scoured. 

At  the  side  of  the  bed  stands  a  huge  black 
oaken  cabinet  with  a  wealth  of  paneling  and 
carving,  and  innumerable  drawers  which  I  know 


MELANIJ'S  FORTUNE  117 

to  contain  linen,  lace,  embroideries,  brocades  and 
ancient  silverware.  I  have  seen  these  treasures 
many  times  and  have  handled  them.  The  top  of 
this  old  cabinet  is  filled  with  tiny,  fragile  India 
cups,  bowls  and  Chinese  laquer-ware  all  of  un- 
doubted age.  This  is  not  one  of  the  show  houses 
of  Marken,  and  it  is  rarely  if  ever  opened  to  the 
curious  tourist.  So  the  objects  described  are 
authentic  and  not  arranged  for  sale. 

Hanging  on  the  front  of  the  cabinet  is  a 
framed  photograph  of  the  beloved  little  Princess 
Juliana,  the  pride  and  joy  of  all  Holland,  be- 
tween those  of  the  Consort  and  Queen  Wil- 
helmina. 

This  house  and  the  contents  described  are 
Melanij's  fortune.  Read  on  and  you  shall  know 
all  that  I  know  about  it,  Melanij  herself,  and 
her  father  and  mother,  and  all,  as  far  as  I  am 
able  to  remember,  in  the  words  of  the  Heer 
Pastoor  who  related  it  to  me  one  rainy  autumn 
day  when  it  was  too  dark  to  paint  and  too  wet 
to  walk  the  dikes.  "Those  are  the  Koopmans 
who  live  in  that  house,  Koopman,  his  vrouwe, 
and  Melanij.  The  house  is  Melanij's  fortune. 


ii8        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

Koopman  was  a  dealer  in  herring,  and  amassed 
some  money  in  the  fish,  due  as  well  to  good  luck 
as  to  his  ability  and  frugality.  People  say  that 
he  was  a  hard  man  to  deal  with  but  he  was  ever 
a  just  one.  He  was  fully  fifty  years  old  when 
he  married  the  daughter  of  old  Bischop,  the 
baker.  She  was  not  less  than  thirty-five  herself, 
and  neither  pretty  nor  well-favored,  but  she  was 
tall,  of  sturdy  frame  and  could  work  hard.  She 
was  of  dark  skin  and  robust  health,  with  large, 
even  white  teeth  like  peeled  almonds.  They 
were  married  here  on  Marken  the  year  before  I 
came  here.  I  am  told  that  she  brought  him  a 
dowry  of  one  thousand  gulden — that  is  all.  She 
could  work  hard,  as  I  have  said,  and  she  did  so. 
No  house  on  Marken  was  better  kept.  It  was, 
as  it  is,  a  model.  Koopman  and  his  wife  could 
read  and  write — not  much  more — but  they  were 
and  are  shrewd.  When  she  had  finished  her 
work  she  always  seated  herself  on  the  wooden 
bench  beside  the  door.  There  she  knitted 
woolen  socks  and  jackets.  These  she  sold  for 
good  prices.  They  were  well  made.  Koopman 


OUXG  FISHERMEN 


MELANIJ'S  FOR  TUNE  1 1 9 

was  away  most  of  the  week  buying  and  selling 
herring  at  Amsterdam.  When  he  was  at  home 
he  always  got  up  at  daybreak  and  opened  the 
green  window  shutters  noisily;  then  he  let  out  the 
cat,  and  soon  Vrouwe  Koopman  came  out  to  get 
coal  from  the  shed  for  the  fire.  It  never  oc- 
curred to  either  of  them  to  bring  it  in  the  night 
before.  The  Koopmans  kept  to  themselves. 
They  never  discussed  their  affairs  with  the  neigh- 
bors. Koopman  is  a  fat,  short,  red-faced  man,  as 
Mynheer  knows.  He  was  always  as  he  is  now,  a 
worker.  He  has  always  worn  blue  stockings, 
snufT-colored  fustian  trousers,  a  checked  waist- 
coat and  a  short  velveteen  jacket  with  silver  but- 
tons. 

"Mar ken  people  are  not  meat  eaters,  neither 
are  the  Koopmans.  Ordinary  peasants'  fare  con- 
sists of  dried  fish,  such  as  cod  and  herring,  dried 
peas  and  beans,  eggs  when  they  can  get  them,  and 
cheese.  The  people  here  retire  at  nine  in  sum- 
mer and  seven  in  winter.  Candles  are  too  ex- 
pensive to  burn  save  on  festal  days,  so  they  often 
go  to  bed  without  light.  Some  burn  kerosene 


MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

nowadays  in  summer,  but  they  are  extravagant. 
In  winter  the  glowing  fire  on  the  hearth  is  often 
the  only  light  in  the  house. 

"Then  one  day  came  a  great  surprise  to  Marken. 
Vrouwe  Koopman  presented  a  daughter  to  her 
husband,  and  on  the  door  was  displayed  to  the 
neighbors  an  embroidered  pink  cushion  of  lace 
and  ribbons,  as  is  the  custom.  In  a  week  she  was 
seated  again  on  the  bench  beside  the  door,  but 
now  she  nursed  her  child  knitting  busily  the 
while.  A  great  change  seemed  to  come  over 
Koopman,  all  the  neighbors  noticed  it.  He  re- 
mained at  home  for  longer  intervals.  He  car- 
ried the  child  in  his  arms  while  the  Vrouwe  did 
the  housework.  He  even  sang  to  it  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  He  often  sat  on  the  dike  gazing  at  the 
child  in  his  arms  as  if  spellbound.  When  Me- 
lanij — that  was  what  they  named  her  to  me 
on  baptismal  day,  first  tried  to  walk  he  cried  real 
tears  of  joy,  and  I  often  saw  him  lying  on  his 
back  on  the  dike  with  the  child  sitting  on  his 
breast  playing  with  his  beard.  He  went  no 
more  to  the  Koffij  huis.  If  he  was  outside  the 
house  watching  the  fishing  boats  coming  in,  a 


MELANIJ'S  FORTUNE  121 

cry  from  Melanij  would  bring  him  to  the  house 
on  a  run.  Thus  time  passed  and  Melanij  grew 
to  girlhood.  I  must  say  that  the  Koopmans  were 
good  church  goers,  and  regular  in  their  attend- 
ance. They  gave  all  that  was  demanded  of 
them,  and  without  urging.  Melanij  thus  was 
brought  up  carefully  in  the  fear  of  God  and  rev- 
erence for  his  commandments.  When  she  was 
six  years  old  she  went  to  school,  when  she  was 
ten  years  old  she  was  really  beautiful.  One 
could  not  help  turning  in  the  street  to  look  after 
her,  and  the  pride  which  the  Koopmans  took  in 
her  was  shared  by  the  whole  community.  Then 
all  at  once  when  she  was  hardly  more  than  four- 
teen, smallpox  broke  out  and  Melanij  came  down 
with  it,  to  the  despair  of  her  parents.  Night  and 
day  Koopman  sat  up  with  his  sick  daughter.  He 
could  hardly  be  induced  to  leave  the  bedside  for 
food  or  rest.  Hardly  anyone  dared  to  speak  to 
him,  so  great  seemed  his  anguish.  When  the 
crisis  came  he  broke  down  and  wept.  Sitting 
outside  on  the  bench  beside  the  door,  he  gazed 
stupidly  at  all  who  came  and  went,  answering  no 
questions,  and  heedless  of  what  went  on  around 


122        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

him.  When  the  doctor  told  him  that  she  would 
live,  that  the  danger  was  past,  he  brushed  him 
aside  and  threw  himself  at  her  bedside,  sobbing 
with  joy.  Melanij  slowly  recovered,  but  her 
great  beauty  was  gone,  gone  forever." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  narrative,  then 
resumed. 

"Mynheer  has  seen  Melanij,  and  he  knows 
how  shocking  is  her  appearance.  The  lovely  rose 
tints  of  her  sweet  face  had  vanished  and  were  re- 
placed by  patches  of  brown  where  the  skin  was 
thickened  and  pitted  by  the  ravages  of  the  dis- 
ease. She  was  really  hideous  to  look  upon  and 
has  so  remained.  The  one  redeeming  feature 
was  the  beauty  of  her  eyes  and  these  shone  forth 
like  clear  stars.  Koopman  after  her  convales- 
cence redoubled  his  devotion  to  the  girl.  Noth- 
ing was  denied  her.  Coarse  and  rude  himself, 
he  showered  delicate  attention  upon  his  afflicted 
child.  A  small  room  at  the  side  of  the  house  was 
set  apart  for  her  and  fitted  up  with  comforts  and 
indeed  luxuries  hitherto  unknown  on  Marken. 
The  Burgomeester's  daughter  had  no  such  com- 


MELANIJ'S  FORTUNE  123 

forts  as  Melanij  enjoyed.  Koopman  bought  a 
carpet  for  her  room  at  the  fair  in  Amsterdam, 
and  the  window  of  her  room  which  looked  on  the 
dike  had  a  heavy  silk  damask  curtain.  On 
Sunday  when  she  went  to  church,  her  clothes 
were  the  richest  of  all.  The  Koopmans  now  de- 
sired to  settle  her  marriage  and  gave  out  that  her 
dowry  would  be  five  thousand  gulden.  Girls  are 
betrothed  early  on  Marken,  but  Melanij  had  no 
admirers  in  spite  of  the  promised  dowry.  So 
hideous  does  she  appear  clad  in  her  rich  clothing, 
that  the  young  men  turn  from  her. 

"On  the  days  when  her  father  is  at  home,  she 
walks  with  him  on  the  dike  hand  in  hand. 
Otherwise,  she  sits  on  the  bench  beside  the  door 
with  her  mother,  working  gayly  colored  embroid- 
eries. Koopman  has  prospered  wonderfully  in 
his  business  in  these  last  few  years.  He  is,  I 
think,  a  rich  man,  as  riches  are  counted  on 
Marken,  but  for  all  his  wealth,  no  young  man 
approaches  Melanij  with  a  view  to  marriage. 

"Koopman  does  not  realize  how  hideous  is 
Melanij's  appearance.  To  him,  blinded  by  his 


124        'MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

great  love  for  her,  she  appears  beautiful  and  in- 
deed, Mynheer,  she  is  beautiful  of  soul,  and  I 
who  know  her  well,  know  whereof  I  speak. 

"And  so,  in  spite  of  her  fortune,  Melanij  is  un- 
sought. Five  thousand  gulden  and  the  house  is 
what  Koopman  offers  with  his  daughter,  and  no 
man  seeks  her." 

I  glanced  through  the  open  doorway  through 
which  I  could  see  mother  and  daughter  sitting  on 
the  green  bench  beside  the  door.  On  the  win- 
dow sill  was  a  box  filled  with  bright  scarlet 
geraniums  against  which  Melanij's  head,  in  the 
Marken  cap,  was  defined.  Some  mysterious 
force  attracted  her  attention,  she  moved  slightly, 
then  glanced  in  our  direction,  and  seeing  us,  she 
smiled.  Then  as  if  troubled  or  embarrassed  by 
our  gaze,  she  arose,  gathered  up  her  work  and 
disappeared  through  the  door  into  the  house.  I 
glanced  at  the  Heer  Pastoor;  he  sat  pensively, 
his  chin  supported  in  his  lean  brown  hand.  All 
at  once  a  light  dawned  upon  me.  Melanij  and 
the  Heer  Pastoor! — "Well,"  I  said  to  myself, 
"and  why  not?" 


JTTING  ON  HER  SKATES 


\  ET  me  make  for  you  a  portrait  of  the 
Marken  pastor.  Slight  and  delicate  in  ap- 
pearance, his  face  seemed  at  once  the  typical  face 
of  one  of  the  ancient  apostles.  Almost  triangu- 
lar it  began  with  a  broad  white  brow  much  fur- 
rowed with  fine  wrinkles  which  were  carried 
down  in  sharp  lines  on  either  temple  to  the  chin, 
and  thus  defined  cheeks  which  were  ascetically 
hollowed.  This  face  hallowed  by  tones  as  yel- 
low as  old  ivory  was  dominated  by  blue  eyes 
which  seemed  burning  with  a  secret  fire.  It  was 
divided  by  a  long,  clean-cut  nose,  thin  and 
straight  with  delicately  sculptured  nostrils,  be- 
neath which  was  a  wide,  large  mouth  with 

125 


126        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

strongly  marked  lips,  from  which  when  he  spoke, 
even  casually,  issued  a  compelling,  resonant 
voice,  the  tones  of  which  went  straight  through 
to  the  heart  of  the  listener.  His  thin,  fine  chest- 
nut hair  receding  from  the  temples,  lay  flat  upon 
his  head.  His  hands  were  short  and  his  stubby 
fingers  might  in  another  have  denoted  coarse 
tendencies;  slight  to  ungracefulness,  his  shoul- 
ders were  too  prominent  and  his  legs  too  thin. 
His  appearance  at  first  sight  was  not  pleasing. 
The  distinctive  characteristics  of  the  man,  dis- 
closed only  to  those  who  could  appreciate,  were 
the  emblems  of  thought,  faith  and  martyrdom, 
the  pallor  of  constancy  and  self-abnegation,  the 
voice  of  love  for  his  fellows. 

This  man  was  worthy  of  the  primitive  Church, 
and  could  hardly  exist  save  in  an  isolated  spot 
like  Marken.  One  sees  the  effigies  of  such  in 
the  old  masterpieces  of  the  Netherland  painters 
— faces  shining  with  the  spirit  of  martyrology, 
stamped  with  the  die  of  human  greatness 
through  suffering  conviction — sees  in  them  that 
indefinable  something  which  embellishes  the 
commonest  features,  gilding  them  with  the  inner 


THE  HEER  PASTOOR  127 

light  which  comes  to  men  vowed  to  any  form  of 
worship.  Balzac  defines  conviction  as  human 
will  attaining  to  its  highest  reach.  It  was  this 
very  conviction  which  showed  in  the  sallow  face 
of  Marken's  Heer  Pastoor. 

His  house  was  typical  of  the  man.  Of  one 
story  it  was  of  pitch  blackened  wood,  its  walls 
slabbed  with  wide  thick  boards  set  horizontally. 
The  window  frames  were  painted  white,  and 
there  were  strong  thick  wooden  shutters,  with 
buttons  with  which  to  fasten  them  when  the  win- 
ter gales  blew  fiercely.  The  roof  was  of  dull 
reddish  tiles  to  which  time  had  given  lovely,  mel- 
low peachy  tints.  The  sloping  roof  covered  the 
low  attic  to  which  in  times  of  flood  the  people 
retire  for  safety. 

Two  rooms  divided  by  a  narrow  hallway  oc- 
cupied the  ground  floor.  At  the  end  of  this  hall- 
way was  a  ladder  leading  to  the  attic  above. 
The  open  door  invited  one  to  enter.  The  house 
seemed  to  be  common  property,  as  indeed  it  was. 
Entering,  one  saw  the  general  living  room  which 
communicated  with  a  small  sort  of  kitchen  in  the 
rear.  In  this  room  was  an  oaken  table  upon 


i28        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

which  were  some  books,  one  of  them  open.  A 
large  well-worn  tapestried  armchair  was  beside 
the  table.  There  were  also  a  number  of  com- 
mon wooden  rush-bottomed  chairs  painted  dark 
green.  Against  the  wall  stood  a  large  beauti- 
fully carved  cabinet.  The  fireplace  was  of  blue 
delft  tiles,  of  great  age  evidently,  and  above  it 
was  a  narrow  shelf  curtained  in  plum-colored 
stuff,  from  beneath  which  hung  a  long  brass  fire 
hook.  There  were  four  heavy  brass  candlesticks 
on  the  shelf.  The  brass  fire  box  contained  the 
ashes  of  a  smoldering  fire.  In  the  wall  was  a 
curtained  bed  in  the  Marken  style  with  coarse 
yellow  linen  sheets  turned  back  over  the  thick 
feather  bolster.  The  woodwork  and  rafters  of 
the  ceiling  were  quite  black  with  age  and  smoke. 
A  tall  Zeeland  clock  in  a  wooden  case  from  which 
hung  a  number  of  heavy  brass  weights,  ticked 
solemnly  on  the  wall  beside  the  walled  bed. 
The  room  was  perfectly  clean  and  well  kept. 
The  fragrance  of  virtue  exhaled  from  it. 

The  Heer  Pastoor  found  a  stranger  thus  study- 
ing his  environment  when  he  entered.  The  in- 
vitation to  his  house  was  to  the  artist  a  signal 


THE  HEER  PASTOOR  129 

honor,  and  he  had  brought  his  sketchbook  with 
him.  The  comment  upon  the  work  of  the  Amer- 
ican was  intelligent  and  appreciative  and  after 
satisfying  his  courteous  curiosity,  the  American 
broke  the  silence  by  saying,  "You  have  an  obedi- 
ent flock,  Mynheer,  here  upon  Marken." 

:(You  will  think  my  church  poor  and  shabby," 
he  answered,  "but  we  have  no  money  to  spend 
on  it.  The  people  as  you  see  are  poor  and  the 
fishing  is  not  what  it  was.  True,  the  tourists 
come  and  a  revenue  is  the  result  of  their  coming, 
but  it  is  not  as  much  as  you  would  think,  and, 
alas,  with  them  has  come  a  worldliness  which  is 
undermining  our  ancient  faith,  particularly  with 
the  young  men.  It  means  heavy  responsibilities 
and  increased  labor  for  me — but  do  not  think 
that  I  complain.  I  love  my  work !  Life  here  is 
reduced  to  its  very  simplest  expression,  but  I 
would  not  change.  God  willing  I  shall  die  here 
among  my  people.  I  found  them  in  a  dreadful 
condition  when  I  came." 

Tea  was  served  by  a  very  old  woman ;  a  dish  of 
cold  boiled  eggs,  butter,  black  bread,  honey,  and 
under  an  earthen  pot  on  the  table  a  small  piece 


130        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

of  candle  burned  heating  the  water  for  the  tea, 
which  each  made  for  himself,  ladling  it  into  the 
old  cups  with  a  small,  short-handled  silver  spoon. 

Thus  the  present  writer  passed  the  first  hour 
of  his  acquaintance  with  the  Heer  Pastoor  of 
Marken,  and  in  that  quaint  room  he  told  of  his 
early  struggles,  his  disappointments  and  some 
of  his  triumphs,  and  somehow  when  the  writer 
came  away  that  evening  in  the  ruddy  glow  of 
the  setting  sun,  life  to  him  seemed  better,  truer, 
cleaner  and  more  worth  while  than  ever  before. 
Many  were  the  hours  we  spent  together  that 
summer,  and  to  him  the  present  writer  owes 
much  of  his  knowledge  of  Marken  and  its  peo- 
ple, which  otherwise  would  have  been  to  him 
the  sealed  book  it  is  to  the  great  world  outside. 

Thus  it  was  with  a  sense  of  deep  personal  loss 
that  the  writer  received  the  news  of  the  passing 
of  this  man  the  following  winter,  due  to  his  de- 
votion and  duty.  Taking  cold  during  a  period 
of  bitter  weather,  he  contracted  pneumonia, 
from  which  he  could  not  recover.  Under  that 
small  green  mound  on  Marken  he  now  lies 
peacefully,  a  martyr  to  the  duty  to  which  he  was 
consecrated. 


Weavin 


g 


\  NTJE,  the  pretty  daughter  of  the  light- 
house  keeper,  is  to  be  married  to-day,  al- 
beit her  engagement  of  long  standing  promised 
at  one  time  to  drag  on  for  an  indefinite  period. 
Marriage  on  Marken  is  a  very  serious  under- 
taking, there  are  so  very  many  formal  regula- 
tions to  be  observed  in  complying  with  the  laws 
of  the  Church  community  as  well  as  the  various 
formalities  demanded  by  the  crown.  Yet  the 
reasons  for  the  delay  in  such  a  slow,  matter-of- 
fact  community  as  Marken,  where  life  passes 
smoothly  and  calmly,  were  unusual  and  sur- 
prising. 
Separating  the  confusing  details  of  much  of 


132        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

the  gossip,  I  learned  that  the  father  of  Antje's 
intended  was  the  sailmaker,  who  spent  much  of 
his  time  away  from  home  and  he  and  his  wife 
quarreled  almost  continually  because  the  sail- 
maker  refused  to  give  his  consent  to  the  match. 
As  this  consent  was  necessary  according  to  law, 
matters  were  difficult  for  the  young  couple. 
Antje  I  knew  well.  On  my  former  visits  to 
Marken  I  remembered  her  as  a  delightful  little 
creature  in  the  highly  ornate  island  costume, 
who  ran  like  a  deer  on  the  dike,  and  was  nearly 
always  first  to  reach  the  tourists  who  landed, 
and  was  greatly  in  demand  for  snap-shot  photo- 
graphs by  them,  for  which  she  was  well  paid,  al- 
though she  never  asked  for  anything,  unlike  the 
others  who  were  so  importunate  in  demanding 
"Baby  pennies." 

And  then  on  my  return  I  missed  her,  and  al- 
though it  was  five  years  since  I  had  last  seen 
her,  I  did  not  realize  the  passage  of  time.  I 
saw  her  at  church  on  Sunday,  a  tall,  sweet-look- 
ing, demure  girl,  who  walked  with  her  eyes  cast 
down,  though  I  doubt  not  for  an  instant  that 
she  saw  all  that  happened  about  her. 


WEDDING  COSTUME 


THE  WEDDING  133 

There  seemed  also  to  be  some  trouble  about 
the  name  of  the  young  man.  Marretje  endeav- 
ored to  explain  it  to  me,  but  she  became  so  in- 
volved and  technical,  and  used  so  many  Marken 
dialectic  words  that  the  matter  is  hopelessly  en- 
tangled in  my  mind,  but  whatever  the  trouble 
about  the  state  license,  at  length,  after  a  delay 
that  was  painful,  the  legal  obstructions  were 
removed  and  the  permission  delivered  to  the 
young  man  in  a  large  white  envelope  with  four 
stamps  and  the  Royal  seal  upon  it.  And  also 
on  the  board  hanging  at  the  right  hand  of  the 
door  of  the  Burgomeester  was  tacked  a  white 
paper  properly  stamped  and  bearing  the  names 
of  Niklaas  Willemzoon  and  Antje  Bokk  and 
the  date  of  their  coming  wedding,  all  taxed  ac- 
cording to  the  law  and  custom  of  her  Gracious 
Majesty  Wilhelmina,  Queen  of  the  Nether- 
lands, Patroness  and  Defender  of  the  faith  and 
the  people. 

Marken  turned  out  in  full  force  to  show  its 
sympathy  and  affection  for  the  young  couple. 
The  lighthouse  keeper  was  there  and  so  was  the 
baker,  also  the  dike  warden  in  a  tall  silk  hat, 


134        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

but  these,  excepting  the  sailmaker,  who  scowled 
in  his  front  seat  in  impotent  ill  temper,  consti- 
tuted, with  the  present  writer,  the  male  element 
at  the  office  of  the  Burgomeester  that  windy 
June  day.  There  was  much  signing  of  stamped 
paper,  and  swearing  upon  the  Bible  held  by  the 
clerk,  a  pallid  young  man  in  black  whose  eyes 
were  sore,  and  who  was  the  personification  of 
dignity  and  the  solemnity  of  his  office  as  sup- 
port to  the  Heer  Burgomeester.  The  party 
then  repaired  to  the  church,  where  the  cere- 
mony was  performed  by  the  Heer  Pastoor,  and 
then  the  bell  was  rung  three  times  three  for  luck, 
and  the  picturesque  throng  walked  through  the 
streets  of  the  village.  At  the  Koffij  huis,  old 
Antonij  stood  in  the  doorway  with  a  bunch  of 
firecrackers  in  his  hand.  As  the  couple  drew 
nigh,  he  scratched  a  match,  and  touching  it  to 
the  string,  dropped  the  bunch  into  a  pail  and 
nimbly  hopped  back  out  of  danger.  Dirks,  the 
tailless  cat,  was  so  frightened  by  the  cracking 
and  snapping  of  the  firecrackers  that  she  fled 
under  a  high  dresser  with  ears  laid  back  tightly 
and  fur  erect.  Here  drink  was  served  to  all. 


THE  WEDDING  135 

To  the  bride  a  sweet  yellow  liquor  called 
"Brides  Tears,"  served  by  the  "Knecht"  (boy 
servant),  and  "borreltje"  to  the  men  folks, 
which  concoction  is  just  plain  gin  and  bit- 
ters. 

Now  comes  forth  the  wife  of  the  proprietor 
with  a  square  of  cheese,  which,  with  a  knife,  she 
hands  to  the  groom,  who  cuts  it  in  several  pieces 
which  are  handed  about.  The  old  Vrouwe  says 
impressively  in  a  cracked  voice : 

"Die  Mijn  Kaas  snijdt'  als  een  schuit,  So  die 
jaag  ik  mijn  deur  uit," — which  means  that 
"Should  any  one  cut  or  hack  (or  waste)  the 
cheese,  throw  him  out  of  the  door,"  with  which 
admonition  to  the  bride  against  wastefulness, 
the  procession  passes  on.  At  the  home  of  the 
bride  a  table  is  set  in  the  large  living  room  lined 
with  blue  china,  tiles,  brass  pots  and  urns,  and 
the  four  walled-in  cupboard-like  beds.  On  the 
tables  were  piles  of  Amsterdam  sche  Koerstjes, 
Roodeletters,  Goudesche  sprits,  Utrechtsche- 
theerandjes,  Nijmeegsche  Moppen,  and  Krakel- 
ingen  kopjes,  all  cakes  both  of  cinnamon  and 
sugar,  and  honey,  and  salt,  and  all  of  local  rep- 


136        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

utation  and  great  celebrity.  Cakes  are  eaten 
thus  at  all  celebrations,  births,  marriages,  and 
deaths,  each  and  all  have  their  little  feasts  and 
appropriate  ceremonies.  Sometimes  here  on 
Marken  they  will  eat  biscuits  and  mice  on  the 
birth  of  an  heir,  the  mice  being  cakes  containing 
caraway  seed  and  all  covered  with  glistening 
sugar.  The  cakes  are  rough  on  top  for  the  boy, 
but  if  it  be  a  girl,  then  it  is  fine  and  long  of 
shape  and  smooth  texture.  Bridal  cake  is  un- 
known, but  there  are  what  are  called  "bruid- 
suikers,"  bonbons  tied  up  in  small,  square,  white 
paper  bags  and  inscribed  "from  the  bride  and 
bridegroom."  These  bags  are  tied  with  narrow 
red  and  green  ribbon  (red  for  love,  green  for 
hope),  and  it  is  the  custom  to  scatter  these  be- 
fore the  door  for  the  credit  of  the  house. 

Indoors  to-day  when  all  were  seated,  the  yel- 
low liquor  called  "bruidstranen"  (bride's  tears) 
was  served  and  all  admired  the  little  flakes 
of  gold  leaf  floating  in  it.  "Bolussen,"  too,  was 
passed.  This  is  a  soggy  sort  of  cake  dripping 
with  syrup,  of  which  the  people  are  inordinately 
fond,  and  comes  from  Leiden.  I  could  not  eat 


THE  WEDDING  137 

mine,  but,  watching  my  chance,  dropped  it  un- 
der the  table,  where  the  cat  ate  it  noisily. 

Some  young  men  now  entered  the  room,  grin- 
ning at  the  newly  married  couple,  who  sat  at 
the  head  of  the  table  holding  hands  openly. 
They  were  from  one  of  the  boats  which  had  just 
come  in  from  Amsterdam,  it  being  Saturday. 
One  of  these  carried  a  cornet  and  drew  from  it 
alternately  discordant,  ear-piercing  blasts  and 
gurgling,  broken  notes,  of  such  anguish  that  the 
pig  in  the  pen  outside  joined  in  feelingly,  filling 
the  air  with  painful  sounds. 

A  strange-looking  dish  of  viands,  partaken  of 
with  great  gusto,  was  passed  around.  When  it 
reached  me  I  asked  my  neighbor  what  it  was, 
and  she  informed  me  that  it  was  pickled  raw 
fish.  It  was  very  red  and  blue,  and  looked  in  its 
bloody  juice  very  unwholesome  and  uninviting, 
but  I  found  it  to  taste  very  good  indeed.  It  was 
very  highly  spiced  with  bay  leaves  and  cloves. 
Then  "Appelbolen  en  Bisschop"  was  passed 
about — this  is  baked  apples  and  spiced  claret. 
I  dared  not  refuse,  as  such  an  act  on  the  part  of  a 
guest  is  inexcusable.  By  this  time  I  was  so  sur- 


138        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

felted  with  pickles,  sweets,  and  spiced  wine, 
that  I  excused  myself,  pleading  that  I  must 
really  do  some  painting,  at  which  the  bride  and 
groom  both  nodded  pleasantly  to  me,  and  then 
I  proposed  their  health  in  as  good  Marken  lan- 
guage as  I  could  command,  and  this,  be  it  said 
in  candor,  is  very  limited  and  of  such  quality 
that  I  used  the  word  for  "clothes  press"  when  I 
should  have  said  "great  prosperity,"  at  which 
they  all  laughed  uproariously  and  nudged  each 
other,  saying  that  Mynheer  George  was  a  great 
joker!  My  present  to  the  bride  was  a  pair  of 
ivory  and  steel  curling  tongs,  and  to  the  groom 
a  safety  razor  set,  in  the  selection  of  which  I  had 
the  advice  of  their  respective  parents. 

As  I  came  away  a  beverage  called  "Advokaat" 
made  of  brandy,  eggs,  sugar  and  spices  was 
being  passed.  The  entertainment  was  sup- 
posed to  last  the  whole  afternoon,  and  I  imagine 
that  the  cost  was  considerable  to  the  respective 
families  of  the  bride  and  groom.  Until  late  at 
night  the  festivities  continued,  and  passing  the 
house  in  the  evening  I  saw  a  crowd  of  people 
sitting  about  the  room  and  in  the  center  two  or 


THE  WEDDING  139 

three  couples  dancing  sedately  to  the  music  of  a 
concertina  and  the  before  mentioned  discordant 
cornet.  I  understand  that  there  are  some  other 
peculiarities  to  the  celebration  in  which  the 
women  take  part,  but  those  are  of  such  a  nature 
that  I  can  not  well  introduce  them  here,  and 
really  as  I  did  not  see  them  but  only  had  them 
from  hearsay,  I  would  better  not  introduce  them 
in  this  chronicle.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  they  are 
very  free  in  character,  and  are  rather  frowned 
upon  nowadays. 

Thus  are  the  social  customs  of  this  simple  and 
homely  island  being  modified  by  influences 
which  are  busy  here  as  elsewhere,  even  in  places 
where  the  veneer  of  modernity  is  practically  un- 
known. "Wij  houden  van  Muziek,"  says  the 
old  Vrouwe,  shaking  her  two  yellow  silken  curls 
at  me,  "Mynheer  sees  that,  also  on  Marken 
'Wij  lacht'  dikwijls'  "  (we  are  merry,  too) .  The 
tourist  rarely  has  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
the  Markenite  laugh.  They  are  of  very  sol- 
emn demeanor  to  the  stranger,  but  in  their 
gatherings  among  themselves  these  austere  grim- 
looking  people  are  anything  but  solemn. 


140        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

To-morrow  being  Sunday,  the  festivities 
will  end  promptly  at  midnight.  On  Marken 
the  sanctity  of  the  day  is  carefully  observed, 
even  though  the  boat  from  Amsterdam  brings 
the  invariable  crowd  of  tourists  who  throng  the 
streets  and  gape  into  the  windows  and  doors 
of  the  houses.  In  spite  of  this,  Sunday  is  ob- 
served by  the  peasants  and  their  families.  The 
younger  element  secretly  welcomes  the  general 
modern  destruction  of  the  old  superstitions,  with 
a  sort  of  gleeful  satisfaction  at  being  in  a  way 
freed  from  the  fear  of  Deity.  They  still  attend 
and  keep  up  a  certain  relation  with  the  Church 
on  the  general  cautiously  suspicious  principle  of 
being  on  the  safe  side  until  sure  that  there  is  no 
real  danger.  The  women  and  girls  naturally 
cling  to  the  established  Church  more  firmly  than 
the  men,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  their  religion 
is  more  a  direct  fear  and  respect  for  the  Heer 
Pastoor  than  otherwise. 

Looking  to-night  from  my  window  along  the 
dike,  and  the  shining  waterway,  before  going  to 
bed,  the  only  living  thing  in  view  is  a  large 
white  cat  gleaming  in  the  moonlight  on  the  top 


THE  WEDDING  141 

of  a  post.  All  at  once  old  Patij's  door  opened, 
a  broad  gleam  of  yellow  light  shot  across  the 
brick-paved  dike.  I  heard  her  cracked  voice 
calling  "Poos-Poos!  JTis  time  to  go  to  bed." 


in 

cJ 


Sunday  he  who  tarries  on  Marken,  as  well 
as  the  native,  must  attend  Church  in  the 
morning  if  he  would  stand  well  with  the  com- 
munity. The  rules  of  the  Reformed  Church  of 
the  Netherlands  are  conscientiously  strict  and 
tolerate  no  backsliders.  The  Church  is  as  pow- 
erful in  its  demands  as  is  the  "free  Kirk  o'  Scot- 
land," which,  indeed,  it  recalls;  and  one  is  irre- 
sistibly reminded  of  the  Lothian  plowman  de- 
scribed by  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  as  being 
"perplexed  wi'  leisure"  when  one  sees  the  groups 
of  hard-featured,  clean-shaven  fishermen  in 
their  Sunday  best  outside  the  church  at  Marken, 
solemnly  standing  about  the  door  waiting  for 

142 


TPES  IN  SUNDAY  DRESS 


SUNDAY  IN  CHURCH  AND  OUT     143 

the  last  peal  of  the  bell,  while  the  women  enter 
by  twos  and  threes  with  eyes  demurely  cast 
down,  yet  noting  everyone  and  everything. 
All  the  Markenites  are  Protestant,  severely  so, 
from  the  Burgomeester  down  to  soapy-faced 
Klaas,  just  appointed  assistant  "Waagmees- 


ter." 


On  the  front  settee  was  the  Heer  Burgomees- 
ter in  stiff  Sunday  coat,  his  chin,  lip  and  neck 
newly  shaven  and  his  black  hair  brushed  straight 
up  from  his  forehead  which  gleamed  white  above 
the  tan  of  his  cheeks.  At  his  side  sat  Mevrouwe 
in  all  the  pomp  of  her  position  as  chief  lady 
of  Marken.  She  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor 
left,  but  straight  ahead,  her  eyes  seemingly  fixed 
upon  the  center  panel  of  the  reading  desk  on  the 
platform,  but  one  opines  that  little  escaped  her 
of  the  movements  and  personalities  of  those  who 
entered  the  church. 

The  town  Bailiff  (Baljuw)  and  his  consort 
sat  at  the  left,  he  a  weazened  little  man  with  a 
large  wen  on  the  back  of  his  neck  which  glowed 
an  angry  red  amid  the  sparse  fringe  of  sandy 
hair  above  his  neck-cloth.  Mevrouwe  Bailiff 


144        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

sat  beside  him  in  conscious  dignity  and  rectitude 
sniffing  occasionally  and  ostentatiously  wip- 
ing the  corners  of  her  thin  lips  with  an  unusually 
large  folded  handkerchief,  heavily  odorous  with 
farina  extract,  her  other  hand  tightly  holding  a 
small  cut  glass  scent  bottle  with  a  silver  top  well 
in  view. 

Behind  these  important  personages  stretch  the 
well-filled  benches  on  either  hand,  a  broad  aisle 
between  of  clean  scrubbed  boards,  for  all  the 
world  like  the  interior  of  a  Scotch  non-conform- 
ist meeting  house,  save,  of  course,  for  the  differ- 
ence in  costume,  without  which  the  two  peoples 
have  something  unexplainable  in  common. 
Meldrum,  in  his  careful  estimate  of  the  Hol- 
lander, speaks  of  this  coincidence:  "The  frank, 
honest,  unrefined  calling  of  a  spade  a  spade,  the 
pride  of  family  and  the  taste  for  an  'Ell  of  Gene- 
alogy/ the  virtue  or  vice  of  savingness,  the  fluc- 
tuation between  the  sober  and  refined  humor  of 
the  workaday  hours  and  a  boisterous  hilarity  in 
feasts  and  holidays,  the  good  housewifery  of  the 
well-to-do  family,  the  forms  of  the  religious 
services,  all  these  traits  of  present-day  Holland 


SUNDAY  IN  CHURCH  AND  OUT     145 

had  their  counterpart  in  Scotland."  (Mel- 
drum's  "Holland  and  the  Hollanders.") 

Lastly  my  eye  dwells  upon  the  stately,  erect 
figure  of  old  Marretje  Thijssen  Teerhuis,  sit- 
ting well  up  to  the  front  at  the  edge  of  the  set- 
tee, in  an  uncomfortable  attitude,  her  sharp  old 
eyes  taking  in  every  detail  of  the  costumes  and 
behavior  of  the  village  aristocracy.  She,  too, 
carries  a  cut  glass  scent  bottle,  which  I  am  con- 
vinced she  abstracted  from  the  stock  in  her  show 
house.  I  note,  too,  that  draped  over  her  left  arm 
and  therefore  plainly  in  sight  as  towards  the 
aisle,  she  carries  draped  an  elegant  embroidered 
silk  shawl  with  long-knotted  fringe,  upon  which 
more  than  once  fell  the  eyes  of  the  Heer  Burgo- 
meester's  lady.  But  I  mention  these  small  de- 
tails only  that  you  may  see  the  picture  more 
clearly. 

At  the  church  door  is  a  large  board,  upon  which 
the  notices  by  the  Heer  Pastoor  are  tacked. 
One  reads  "Aanstaanden  Zonday  van  daag  over 
acht  dagen."  That  is  to  say,  "On  Sunday  next, 
this  day  week"  etc.,  etc.  This  board  is  eagerly 
scrutinized  by  the  women  as  they  enter.  The 


146        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

men  before  entering  "scan  the  sky  with  knowing 
eye."  The  greeting  is  "Daag,  Mynheer"  or 
"Jongen,"  as  the  case  may  be,  and  the  conversa- 
tion always  begins  by  comment  upon  the 
weather.  "Hoe  is  het  weder?  Het  is  weder 
fraai  van  daag.  'Tis  wordt  beter,  wij  zullen 
hebben  een5  fraaien  daag.  Des  te  beter  want 
gisteren  was  het  ongestadig  en  veranderlijk." 
(How  is  the  weather?  It  is  fine  to-day  and  im- 
proving. We  shall  have  a  fine  day,  so  much  the 
better;  for  yesterday  was  so  unsettled  and 
changeable.) 

In  the  cool  days  of  autumn  the  women  carry 
little  boxes  containing  burning  charcoal  (stoof- 
jes)  upon  which  they  rest  their  feet,  for  the 
church  is  illy  heated  and  the  wind  blows  through 
it.  The  men  sit  on  one  side,  the  women  on  the 
other.  There  is  a  small  narrow  gallery,  too, 
where  men  sit  by  themselves.  On  the  mainland 
the  old  order  whereby  the  sexes  sat  apart  is 
changing,  but  here  on  Marken  old  customs  pre- 
vail. Hark!  The  Voorsanger  (literally  fore- 
singer)  has  begun  the  service  by  impressively 
reading  a  chapter  of  Scripture  and  the  Com- 


SUNDAY  IN  CHURCH  AND  OUT     147 

mandments.  Then  seating  himself,  he  gives 
place  to  the  Heer  Pastoor,  who,  after  scanning 
the  throng  before  him,  gives  out  the  number  and 
the  first  words  of  a  Psalm.  Beside  his  reading 
desk,  on  a  small  shelf,  stands  a  brass-bound  sand- 
glass. It  has  not  been  turned,  however,  so  the 
sand  is  not  running. 

The  building,  clean  and  whitewashed  as  it  is, 
smells  close;  a  peculiar  odor  it  is,  too,  not  unfa- 
miliar, either,  but  such  as  one  identifies  with 
schoolhouses  and  public  halls.  One  might  say 
that  it  here  smells  orthodox. 

The  sermon  is  so  very  technical  and  dialectic 
that  I  can  only  gather  the  meaning  of  a  sentence 
here  and  there.  It  has  to  do  with  the  punish- 
ments of  the  hereafter,  and  is  divided  into  first- 
ly's  and  secondly's.  The  congregation  do  not 
seem  greatly  impressed,  or  it  may  be  that  they 
are  too  stolid  to  show  their  feelings,  but  at  any 
rate  the  good  Heer  Pastoor  worked  himself  into 
a  tremendous  passion  over  their  coming  fate, 
and  seemed  quite  out  of  breath  when  he  finally 
seated  himself  on  the  plain  settee  behind  the 
desk,  mopping  his  head  and  face. 


148        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

The  two  collectors,  or  deacons,  now  solemnly 
rise  and  take  down  from  hooks  on  the  right  and 
left  two  singular-looking  black  bags  on  the  end 
of  long  poles,  and  begin  a  tour  of  the  benches. 
Note  how  dexterously  they  whip  the  bags  under 
the  noses  of  the  men  and  women  respectively, 
who  invariably  drop  a  coin  or  two  into  its  open 
black  maw!  And  now  the  benediction,  all 
standing,  and  out  go  the  people  into  the  wind- 
swept, brick-paved  roadway,  and  home  to  the 
tea-drinking,  and  the  rest  of  the  day  in  visiting 
and  gossiping  over  the  events  of  the  week. 

Mar  ken  I  find  really  scorns  the  tourists  who 
throng  the  roadways  even  on  the  Sabbath.  It  is 
not  considered  good  form  to  invite  them  into 
one's  house.  "Of  course  Marretje  Thijssen 
Teerhuis  does  so,  but  then  you  see  she  is  in  the 
business — a  public  character,  if  you  please,  a 
professional  really,  not  looked  down  upon  at 
all,  you  understand,  not  at  all,  but" — and  Mrs. 
Grundy  of  Marken  shrugs  her  shoulders,  her 
yellow  curls  bobbing  up  and  down  expressively. 
So  you  are  to  understand  by  this  that  Marken 
is  jealous  of  old  Marretje,  who  has  such  a  snug 


SUNDAY  IN  CHURCH  AND  OUT    149 

account  in  the  Bank  at  Amsterdam,  as  well  as  a 
show  house  crammed  full  of  the  Dutch  treasures 
so  dear  to  the  tourist. 

In  the  afternoon  of  Sunday,  the  Langstraat  is 
filled  with  walking  groups  of  peasant  women 
and  young  girls,  while  the  men  and  boys  stand 
or  squat  on  the  side  pavements  watching  them. 
The  women  loiter  about  the  window  of  the  gold- 
smith, where  are  displayed  tempting  strings  of 
coral  beads  and  gold  ornaments  dear  to  women- 
kind  of  Marken,  or  pass  in  and  out  of  the  bake- 
shops  talking  loudly,  eating  sweetmeats  noisily 
with  uncouth  grimaces  and  slapping  each  other 
on  the  back  and  hips  at  each  fresh  display  of  wit 
or  rather  free  repartee,  for  the  Marken  people 
are  very,  very  free  of  speech.  These  people 
have  a  very  sweet  tooth  and  spend  much  money 
in  the  bake-shops.  The  women  are  as  fond  of 
the  white  wine  as  the  men  are  of  gin,  and  the 
"ponte  koek"  goes  well  with  both. 

In  passing  the  groups  of  women  and  girls  who 
walk  together  holding  on  tightly  to  each  other's 
hands,  I  found  that  one  of  their  favorite  forms 
of  pleasantry  was  to  give  the  passer-by  a  hard 


150        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

shove  by  hip  and  shoulder  often  strong  enough 
to  throw  the  assaulted  one  off  her  feet.  I  gen- 
erally betook  myself  on  Sundays  to  a  small  gar- 
den in  the  rear  of  one  of  the  houses  which  sold 
drink  and  coffee  where  the  tourists  never  pene- 
trate, and  there  the  peasants,  their  sweethearts 
and  wives  congregate  at  round  tables  and  sol- 
emnly consume  large  quantities  of  cake  and 
wine.  Here  I  usually  sat  listening  to  the  con- 
versation and  adding  to  the  small  store  of  the 
difficult-to-remember  dialect  of  Marken.  At 
first  suspicious  of  me,  they  gradually  became  ac- 
customed to  my  presence,  so  that  when  I  ap- 
peared at  their  gatherings  my  coming  created  no 
comment  beyond  a  courteous,  "Dag,  Mynheer 
Schilderer."  (Good  day,  Mr.  Painter.) 

Looking  across  the  low  meadows  from  the 
open  window  of  the  room  which  good  old  Mar- 
retje  has  so  kindly  placed  at  my  disposal  in  her 
wonderful  house,  I  can  see  the  square  brick  tower 
of  the  church  with  its  low,  pointed,  four-sided 
spire,  and  below,  two  of  the  clock  faces  upon 
which  Marken  depends.  The  tower  and  the 
high  roof  of  the  church  rises  far  above  the  mel- 


I 


LIVING  ROOM 


SUNDAY  IN  CHURCH  AND  OUT    151 

low,  red-tiled  roofs  of  the  clustering  houses. 
Two  canals  like  silver  ribbons  separate  it  from 
the  house  on  the  island  where  I  lodge  with  Mar- 
ret  je  amid  such  treasures  of  old  silver,  blue  and 
white  platters,  brass  pots  and  platters  and  or- 
nate marquetry  furniture,  and  serving  as  a  sort 
of  dado  is  a  flapping  strip  of  pink,  yellow,  blue 
and  white  clothes  hung  out  to  dry  in  the  soft 
breeze.  The  grass  grows  rankly  on  the  low 
meadow  land  in  bands  of  rich  golden  yellow, 
tan  and  vivid  green.  Dark  patches  of  tall  gray- 
ish-green rushes  grow  rankly  here  and  there  on 
the  borders  of  the  canals,  where  old  moss-cov- 
ered flatboats  are  tethered.  In  them  the  chil- 
dren play,  their  shrill  voices  softened  by  dis- 
tance. Some  women  and  young  boys  are  raking 
the  rank  grayish-green  hay  newly  mown,  and 
just  under  my  window  a  very  old  wrinkled  and 
bent  woman  in  a  tal?  embroidered  cap  from 
which  hang  two  thick  strands  of  yellow  twisted 
silk,  sits  with  a  fat,  ornately  arrayed  baby  in  her 
lap,  the  baby  sucking  a  "bolij"  of  sugar  tied  up 
in  a  rag. 
Girls  of  various  ages  pass  and  repass  along  the 


152        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

brick-paved  way  in  couples,  all  busily  knitting 
coarse  stockings  of  blue  or  saffron  wool,  the  balls 
of  which  are  often  contained  in  small  woven 
willow  baskets  hanging  on  the  right  arm. 

Toward  the  harbor  one  or  two  brown  sails 
alone  are  visible  on  weekdays,  but  on  Sundays 
the  harbor  is  quite  filled  with  the  fishing- 
boats.  They  are  invariably  of  one  mast,  up- 
turned at  the  bow  like  a  wooden  shoe,  and  bor- 
dered with  a  strip  of  red  or  pale  green  or  saffron 
paint  at  the  gun'le.  Huge  lee  boards  like  wings 
are  at  each  side  and  on  the  brown  sails  of  tender 
tonal  quality  so  appealing  to  a  painter,  are  the 
large  letters  M  K  and  the  registry  number  in 
white  paint.  From  the  masthead  streams  in- 
variably long  thin  horizontal  red,  white  and  blue 
wind  flaps.  I  cannot  see  the  men,  but  I  know 
that  they  are  there  squatting  in  long  rows,  stol- 
idly smoking  their  treasured  clay  pipes,  and 
speculating  upon  to-morrow's  fortunes  at  the 
fishing  grounds. 

And  so  passes  peaceful  Sunday  in  this  quaint 
community. 


OU 


by  day  one  saw  standing  on  the  dike 
looking  towards  Monnickendam,  an  old 
man  so  motionless  as  to  excite  curiosity.  A 
coarse  felt  hat  the  brim  of  which  was  held  to  the 
crown  by  stitches  protected  a  head  entirely  bald 
save  for  a  thin  fringe  of  snow-white  hair  at  the 
nape  of  the  neck  and  over  each  ear.  One  could 
guess  from  the  way  in  which  the  cheeks  sank  in, 
continuing  the  furrows  about  the  mouth,  that 
this  toothless  old  fellow  was  more  given  to  the 
bottle  than  the  platter.  On  his  pointed  chin  a 
rough  stubble  of  white  gave  a  sinister  expres- 
sion to  his  profile.  The  deep-set  greenish-gray 
eyes  were  too  small  for  his  large  bony  face,  and 

153 


154        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

sloping  or  slanting  like  those  of  a  Chinese,  be- 
trayed cunning  as  well  as  laziness.  They 
gleamed  with  a  greeny  blue  light  beneath  the 
reddish  lids.  The  clothing  of  this  curious  figure 
consisted  of  an  absurdly  short  jacket  of  faded 
blue  tight  at  the  waist  and  wide  baggy  breeches, 
much  patched  and  frayed,  ending  at  the 
knee  or  below,  thence  long,  thick,  knitted  stock- 
ings of  rough  wool  and  splintered  wooden 
"Klompen"  in  which  wisps  of  straw  showed  at 
the  heels.  This,  I  was  told,  was  old  Ary,  the 
rope  maker,  who  was  so  very  deaf  that,  as  my  in- 
formant unfeelingly  remarked,  "There  was  no 
use  talking  to  him."  So  they  let  him  alone. 
Poor  old  man,  he  had  outlived  himself.  Years 
ago,  twenty  or  more,  his  wife  had  died,  and  since 
then  he  had  gone  down  and  down.  He  was  no 
longer  able  to  continue  his  trade,  although  he 
patiently  endeavored  to  work  along  in  the  old 
way.  His  strength  was  unequal  to  the  task, 
and  his  old  wheel  and  the  "walk"  behind  his 
dilapidated  house  at  the  sluice  was  dropping 
apart.  One  could  buy  good  ropes  now  made  by 
machinery  at  a  price  much  lower  than  he  de- 


OLD  ARY  PIK 

manded.  The  community  no  longer  needed 
him,  he  had  ceased  to  be  of  use.  His  attempts 
to  adapt  himself  to  the  conditions  were  hope- 
less. He  was  too  old  to  try  to  learn  another 
trade,  and  since  his  wife's  death  he  had  lived 
on  the  little  he  had  saved,  but  through  improvi- 
dence and  the  bottle,  the  house  and  finally  him- 
self fell  into  a  dilapidated  state  of  wretched- 
ness. Everything  seemed  to  go  to  decay.  The 
glass  fell  from  the  small  windows  and  was  re- 
placed by  pieces  of  boxes.  His  eyes  failed  him, 
then  his  ears.  He  was  rheumatic,  his  joints 
creaked  as  well  as  the  doors  of  his  old  house  on 
their  rusty  hinges.  They  matched  well,  did  the 
house  and  the  man. 

When  his  hearing  failed,  his  last  great  pleas- 
ure was  denied  him — that  right  of  old  age,  gos- 
siping. He  had  ceased  to  be  a  part  of  the  pres- 
ent, and  the  past  had  no  existence.  The  world 
had  no  use  for  him,  the  world  being  of  course 
Marken — he  knew  no  other.  His  efforts  to 
adapt  himself  to  conditions  were  pathetic.  Too 
old  and  too  feeble  to  keep  up  with  the  new  con- 
ditions which  confronted  him,  he  tried  to  exist 


156        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

on  the  little  he  had  saved.  His  deafness  pre- 
vented him  from  understanding  what  was 
said  to  him,  and  so  the  peasants,  ever  seeking 
that  which  gave  them  least  trouble,  let  him  se- 
verely alone.  The  old  man  was  not  ill-natured 
with  all  this.  He  was  lively  of  wit  and  ready 
of  repartee,  but  his  repartee  was  always  in  the 
wrong  place  because  he  misunderstood  the  sub- 
ject in  hand.  Daily  he  sought  the  dike  end 
where  the  boats  of  the  fleet  were  tied  up — but 
few  of  the  fishermen  paid  any  attention  to  him, 
and  his  loneliness  increased  and  weighed  heavily 
upon  him.  One  could  see  him  wandering  about 
in  search  of  someone  to  whom  he  might  talk,  and 
sitting  in  the  sun  his  gaze  fixed  out  over  the 
waters  of  the  Gouw  Zee  towards  distant  Volen- 
dam,  and  when  the  fleet  sailed  away  bearing  the 
lusty  rollicking  fishermen  bound  for  the  fishing 
grounds  of  the  North  Sea,  he  would  linger  on 
the  dike  waiting  and  watching  for  he  knew  not 
what.  Thus  did  existence  weigh  heavily  upon 
him. 

One  day  I  asked  him  to  pose  for  me,  and  the 
task  of  making  him  understand  what  it  was  that 


OLD  ARY  PIK  157 

I  required  of  him  seemed  hopeless.  Into  his  ears 
first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  I  bawled  my 
explanations  and  my  shouts  drew  the  ubiquitous 
children  to  the  dike  end  where  we  sat.  They 
came  in  hordes,  and  crowding  around  us  shouted 
and  screamed  in  delight  at  my  efforts  to  make 
the  old  man  understand.  All  at  once  a  gleam  of 
intelligence  came  into  the  watery  green  eyes  and 
he  smiled  gleefully. 

"Ah!  Mynheer  wants  some  good  rope.  It  is 
well — willingly  will  I  make  it  for  him,  at  a  fair 
price,  too,  three  cents  the  foot,  eh?  Is  not  that 
fair  and  made  by  hand,  too — no  cursed  machine 
twist — but  made  by  hand!"  Finally  I  made 
him  comprehend  dimly  what  I  wanted  and 
thereafter  he  served  me  as  a  model,  and  so  I  was 
able  to  help  him  along  in  a  small  way.  But  I 
soon  discovered  that  his  complacency  and  pa- 
tience during  the  first  period  was  largely  due  to 
the  fact  that  mistaking  my  large  bottle  of  "fixa- 
tive" (a  varnish)  used  to  "fix"  my  charcoal 
drawings,  for  brandy,  he  had  surreptitiously 
taken  a  long  pull  at  it  when  my  back  was  turned 
for  a  moment.  When  I  discovered  this  I  was 


158        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

fearful  that  it  would  result  disastrously  for  him, 
the  basis  being  wood  alcohol,  but  apparently  he 
was  none  the  worse  for  the  fearful  dose,  for  he 
was  awaiting  me  bright  and  early  the  following 
morning,  eager  to  go  to  work,  his  "insides"  well 
varnished ! 

As  the  summer  came  to  an  end  and  winter  drew 
nigh,  the  old  man  looked  wretchedly  forlorn. 
The  fierce  autumn  wind  whistled  through  his 
dilapidated  house.  I  got  a  few  bags  of  "stone 
coal"  (Steen  kool)  for  him,  and  thus  he  was  en- 
abled to  keep  warm,  and  he  passed  the  cool 
autumn  days  huddling  over  the  old  fire  box  in 
his  ramshackle  dwelling.  Finally  I  heard  that 
he  had  decided  to  sell  the  old  house,  with  the  un- 
derstanding that  the  purchaser  should  permit 
him  to  end  his  remaining  days  in  it.  Old  Mar- 
retje  bought  it,  and  there  was  great  excitement 
on  Marken  when  she  and  the  decrepit  Ary  ap- 
peared before  the  Burgomeester  to  complete  the 
sale  according  to  law.  Such  signing  of  papers 
was  there;  really  if  it  had  been  the  sale  of  the 
great  Castle  of  Gravendeel  itself,  the  business 
of  it  could  not  have  been  more  formal.  Wit- 


I 


VILLAGE  STREET 


OLD  ARY  PIK  159 

nesses  were  called  in  and  the  fees  paid  over  to 
them  in  conformance  with  the  law  of  the  King- 
dom were  proudly  exhibited  by  the  recipients, 
and  as  for  the  talk — well,  anyone  who  has  known 
Marken  will  picture  to  himself  the  conclaves 
over  the  dividing  fences  between  the  houses,  and 
the  eloquent  discussions — The  "I  saids"  and  the 
"I  saws"  down  to  the  smallest  details,  each  nar- 
rator endeavoring  to  outclass  the  previous  one  in 
minutiae.  And  so  it  was  done.  Through  it  all 
the  pathetic  figure  of  old  Ary  sat  dazed  and  won- 
dering, until  finally  the  money  being  deposited 
in  the  strong  box  of  Mynheer  the  Burgomeester, 
and  a  receipt  given  to  him,  Old  Ary  was  led 
forth  from  the  office. 

Outside  he  and  old  Marretje  had  clasped 
hands,  thus  consummating  the  bargain  after  the 
manner  of  the  peasants,  and  in  the  Koffij  huis 
all  had  imbibed  freely  of  "Genever,"  each  at  his 
own  expense,  for  the  affair  was  an  exhausting 
one  to  them.  The  children  escorted  old  Ary  to 
the  home  that  he  had  once  owned,  and  with  part- 
ing sarcastic  witticisms  left  him  only  when  from 
his  open  doorway  he  had  cast  several  lumps  of 


160        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

his  precious  "steenkoolen"  at  them,  which  lumps 
he  carefully  rescued  after  their  hilarious  de- 
parture. 

Ever  provident  and  wise,  old  Marretje  at  once 
set  about  repairing  the  house,  and  workmen  tore 
off  the  old  roof  and  replaced  it  with  new  tarred 
boards  after  the  fashion  of  Marken.  The  former 
owner  sat  on  the  dike  disconsolately  watching 
the  process,  bawling  out  orders  to  which  the 
workmen  gave  no  heed.  The  change  was  really 
a  great  shock  to  him,  and  finally  when  the  new 
roof  was  on  and  the  men  had  departed,  he  took 
to  his  bed.  Thus  I  found  him  one  day  in  the  late 
fall,  stretched  out  in  the  quaint  green-painted 
wall  bed  in  the  low  ceiled  room  with  one  win- 
dow. Rigid  and  motionless  he  lay  with  one 
long  lean  arm  and  hand  hanging  over  the  side. 
When  I  touched  him  he  started  up  wildly,  cry- 
ing out  "Robbers!  Thieves!" 

Recognizing  me  at  last,  he  grinned  and  shook 
my  hand,  but  I  could  not  make  him  understand 
me.  The  neighbors  looked  in  on  him  and  saw 
that  he  was  fed,  but  with  the  apathy  and  indif- 
ference of  the  peasantry,  they  complained  that 


OLD  ARY  PIK  161 

he  apparently  neither  could  get  well  nor  "pass 
on."  I  went  to  the  Burgomeester  and  laid  the 
matter  before  him  and  induced  him  to  make  out 
the  necessary  papers  to  get  the  old  man  admitted 
to  the  "Huis"  as  it  was  called,  where  such  help- 
less old  folk  were  cared  for  by  the  State.  This 
was  finally  accomplished  not  without  much  re- 
sistance upon  his  part,  I  was  told,  for  I  was  not 
on  Marken  when  he  was  removed.  It  is  said  that 
he  lived  only  a  few  months  in  the  hospital.  Old 
Marretje  says  that  the  shock  he  received  when 
they  washed  him  and  put  him  between  clean 
sheets  "finished  him." 

And  so  Marken  knows  him  no  more,  and  his 
place  on  the  dike  end  is  occupied  by  another,  less 
picturesque  it  is  true,  but  the  boats  come  and  go, 
as  usual,  and  no  one  seems  to  miss  Old  Ary. 


cJtom  cJI 

by    Wifiaow 

*  I  ^HE  house  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  narrow 
canal  is  a  typical  one.  Really  there  are 
four  distinct  habitations  beneath  the  steep-slop- 
ing, moss-covered,  red-tiled  roof,  which  is  of  a 
delightful  mellow  patchwork  of  old  and  new 
work,  and  having  tall  brick  chimneys  protruding 
at  unexpected  places  quite  arbitrarily.  The 
house  like  all  the  others  is  of  tarred  or  pitch  cov- 
ered wooden  wide  boards  placed  horizontally  be- 
low byut  vertically  above  the  junction  of  the 
eares.  The  gable  end  is  towards  the  canal  and 
here  the  earth  is  diked  up  forming  a  sort  of  level 
walk,  and  it  is  fringed  sparsely  with  a  grayish- 
green  wiry  coarse  grass.  There  is  a  sort  of  bal- 

162 


FROM  MY  WINDOW  163 

ustrade  of  rough  beams  at  intervals  but  this  is 
simply  to  hang  the  nets  upon.  At  first  sight 
there  seems  to  be  a  great  confusion  of  old  planks 
and  marine  impedimenta,  but  upon  closer  inspec- 
tion one  finds  a  certain  order  in  it  all.  The  win- 
dows of  the  house  are  few  in  number,  each  of  a 
different  size,  having  neatly  painted  white 
frames,  with  pale  green  shutters  the  center  of 
which  is  invariably  white.  The  doors  have  white 
frames,  but  the  heavy  doors  are  green  and  not 
paneled,  and  the  hinges  resemble  those  on  coun- 
try barns.  Each  house  has  a  sort  of  bench  beside 
the  door,  and  here  Mynheer,  when  he  pleases, 
sits  and  smokes  at  his  leisure. 

In  the  canal  is  the  reflection  of  the  bright  green 
paint  of  the  doors,  somewhat  distorted  by  the 
wake  of  the  duck  that  swims  by,  turning  its  head 
comically  from  side  to  side.  Two  or  three  ex- 
travagantly shaped  boats  are  tied  up  to  the  bank, 
and  in  one  of  them  sits  a  girl  knitting.  It  would 
be  hard  to  guess  just  how  many  yards  of  "stuff" 
there  must  be  in  her  spread  petticoats ;  on  a  bench 
beside  one  of  the  doors  a  brightly  polished  brass 
can  reflects  the  sun.  It  is  all  so  strange.  Brass 


164        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

hooped  pails;  green,  blue  and  red  cans;  wooden 
"klompen"  in  rows  beside  the  door;  and  the  roll- 
ing figure  of  a  man  with  a  crop  of  black  hair,  red 
face,  green  pails,  a  pipe,  baggy  breeks  and 
wooden  shoes  painted  snow  white,  ambling  along 
the  dike.  It  is  almost  outrageously  picturesque. 
"Hoe  lang  stoppen  gij  hier"  (how  long  do  you 
stop  here) ,  I  am  asked  daily  by  someone,  and  I 
answer  as  best  I  can  trying  to  satisfy  their  curi- 
osity, but  the  question  is  not  intended  for  im- 
pertinence, on  the  contrary.  But  I  do  not  know 
myself  how  long  I  will  stop  with  these  quaint 
people  who  have  received  me  so  hospitably.  It 
is  hard  to  leave  them. 

To-day  I  am  reading  Motley,  and  trying 

to  picture  the  Hollander  of  the  time  of  Philip  II, 
in  big  boots,  and  breastplate,  defending  his  town 
to  the  last  extremity,  famine  and  pestilence 
within,  while  without  is  the  dreary  frozen  land- 
scape and  the  Spanish  Inquisitors  with  gibbet, 
rack  and  slow  fires  ready.  I  try  to  imagine  how 
the  dockkeeper  would  look  in  a  stiff  white  linen 
ruff,  and  the  small  pink-armed  maid  outside  my 
window  knitting  in  the  old  boat,  would  she  stand 


FROM  MY  WINDOW  165 

to  the  principles  of  her  faith  if  put  to  the  torture 
of  the  question  before  the  grand  Inquisitor  in  the 
castle?  The  modern  Hollander  is  so  mild  in  ap- 
pearance, so  slow  in  movement,  so  phlegmatic. 
Should  you  by  chance  meet  him  on  the  narrow 
dike  face  to  face,  he  will  stand  his  ground  and 
wait  calmly  eying  you  the  while  without  any 
evidence  of  ill-feeling  whatever,  until  you  move 
out  of  his  way.  It  never  occurs  to  him  to  step 
aside — I  have  tried  it  a  half  dozen  times  for  my- 
self, so  I  know. 

Old  Niklaas,  the  tinker,  has  just  passed  the 
window  followed  by  his  energetic  vrouwe;  he  is 
plainly  in  liquor;  he  always  is  and  doubtless  al- 
ways will  be  so;  but  his  failing  is  not  really  harm- 
ful to  anyone  but  himself,  good  natured  as  he  is, 
clumsy,  stupid,  yet  amusing.  His  vrouwe,  a 
large  masculine  figure  of  a  woman,  although 
claiming  to  be  out  of  patience  with  him,  really 
appeared  to  appreciate  the  humor  of  his  failing, 
hustling  him  along  home  and  sending  him  to 
the  loft  to  sleep  off  his  "cups."  But  all  at  once 
her  patience  seemed  to  be  exhausted.  Just 
when  and  how  the  change  took  place  I  cannot 


1 66        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

tell;  but  she  began  to  attack  him  with  most 
furious  reproaches  when  he  came  home  drunk. 
Niklaas  at  first  stolidly  accepted  these  re- 
proaches as  part  of  his  fun,  but  at  length,  little 
by  little,  returned  word  for  word  until  finally 
both  lost  whatever  good  humor  they  had,  and 
so,  as  the  saying  is  here  "pulled  and  hauled  upon 
it"  by  day  and  by  night. 

At  length  she  succeeded  in  goading  him  to  such 
a  state  that  he,  the  gentle  Niklaas,  struck  her  and 
she  ran  out  upon  the  dike  before  all  the  neigh- 
bors, screaming  in  hysterics,  and  thus  matters  are 
going  badly  with  them.  So  now  they  lead  a  mis- 
erable existence,  and  both  at  one  time  so  good 
natured,  threaten  to  degenerate  into  a  surly,  vi- 
cious, quarrelsome  pair. 

Marken  blames  both  for  this,  for  although  it  is 
admitted  that  Niklaas  gets  drunk,  yet  the  woman 
has  always  been  used  to  it.  The  children,  two 
of  them,  have  grown  up,  married  and  betaken 
themselves  to  another  part  of  the  settlement. 
Thus  she  has  only  herself  and  the  drunken  Nik- 
laas to  care  for.  The  complaint  of  the  neighbors 
is  not  against  Niklaas,  but  herself.  They  say 


ST  GIRLS 


FROM  MY  WINDOW  167 

that  she  is  a  common  scold  and  an  anarchist  in 
her  ideas. 

Marken  is  not  so  far  away  from  the  world  that 
the  people  do  not  know  something  of  Socialism 
but  with  it  they  have  little  sympathy.  Thus 
they  find  her  railing  against  the  oppression  of 
the  rich  quite  tiresome,  for  this  is  the  burden  of 
her  complaint,  the  rich  taking  their  ease  while 
the  poor  can  hardly  exist.  This  they  think  non- 
sense for  she  has  always  lived  in  a  sort  of  comfort 
even  while  they  had  to  support  the  children,  and 
now  that  these  are  gone  there  is  no  apparent  rea- 
son why  they  should  not  be  at  least  equally  well 
off. 

Niklaas  s  habits  and  his  waste  of  money  is  so 
different  from  what  it  was;  he  is  usually  idling 
and  always  getting  drunk.  And  now  Patje,  that 
is  her  name,  has  taken  to  extravagance  and  is  liv- 
ing quite  beyond  her  means.  She  is  keeping  rab- 
bits, geese  and  a  pig.  The  latter  is  a  huge  hairy 
pink  one  with  pendent  ears  and  occupies  the 
whole  of  the  dark  space  beneath  the  house,  only 
coming  to  the  opening  at  regular  intervals  to 
groan  and  scream  for  food  beginning  at  an  un- 


1 68        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

earthly  hour  in  the  dark  of  the  morning  when 
Marken  is  trying  to  sleep.  They  say  that  all  the 
money  she  can  scrape  together  goes  for  feed  for 
this  monster.  So  she  has  transferred  to  the  pig, 
the  geese  and  the  rabbits  the  affection  she  once 
bore  for  Niklaas  and  the  children.  But  it  is  for 
the  pig  that  she  slaves  and  pinches  and  screws, 
stuffing  him  so  that  he  is  at  the  bursting  point,  to 
the  disgust  of  Niklaas,  who  at  the  dike  end  com- 
plains loudly  to  whosoever  will  listen  to  him. 
He  says  furthermore  that  she  is  extravagant,  that 
she  has  bought  two  brass  American  kerosene 
lamps  on  the  installment  plan  from  a  peddler, 
who  calls  every  Monday  for  his  money.  Thus 
she  is  always  poor,  and  complaining  of  the  money 
Niklaas  wastes  on  drink,  and  he  retaliates  by 
pointing  to  the  gluttonous  pig,  the  ravenous  rab- 
bits, the  fat  geese,  and  the  two  brass  kerosene 
lamps,  as  unnecessary  luxuries  which  will  yet 
ruin  him  and  send  them  both  to  the  pauper  col- 
ony at  Veenhuisen. 

Finally,  one  day  I  heard  that  Niklaas  had 
taken  his  chest  (every  man  on  Marken  has  his 
chest  containing  his  treasures,  whatever  they 


FROM  MY  WINDOW  169 

may  be,  all  under  padlock)  and  gone  over  to  his 
daughter's  house  to  live,  unable  any  longer  to 
stand  the  scolding  of  his  wife.  When  I  met  him 
on  the  dike,  he  was  in  a  great  state  of  excitement, 
and  explained  volubly  that  they  could  not  agree 
with  one  another.  There  was,  of  course,  a  great 
scandal  on  Marken,  the  Heer  Pastoor  was  sent 
for,  and  his  arguments  had  such  weight  with  Nik- 
laas,  that  it  all  ended  in  his  return  to  Patje,  quite 
cowed  and  ashamed  of  himself,  and  now  they 
have  resumed  the  old  life,  but  with  something  of 
a  truce  between  them. 


* 
ot 


^  I^HE  morning  of  my  departure  from  Marken 
dawned  brightly,  the  sun  mounting  into  a 
cloudless  autumn  sky  as  blue  as  the  color  on  the 
quaint  delft  china  arranged  on  the  walls  of  the 
show  house  of  Mistress  Teerhuis.  My  belong- 
ings all  carefully  packed  and  strapped  together 
were  in  a  most  orderly  pile  on  the  dike  end  and 
guarding  them  was  Willum  the  fat  boy,  stolid 
and  round  eyed,  more  uncommunicative  than 
usual,  surrounded  by  his  envious  companions 
who  covetously  regarded  the  nickel  chain  and 
pendent  seals  stretched  across  his  red  flannel 
jacket  attached  to  a  fine  Waterbury  made  watch 
in  his  breast  pocket,  which  his  patron,  the  Ameri- 

170 


'"TOT  WEERSIENS"  171 

can  "Schilderer,"  had  given  him.  Marken  on  this 
morning  seemed  to  me  as  wonderful  as  if  I  had 
never  seen  it  before,  looking  as  unreal  as  though 
it  were  cut  out  of  some  picture  book;  the  streets 
running  just  as  they  pleased  and  the  red-roofed 
wooden  houses  standing  as  unevenly  in  rows  as 
they  possibly  could.  Windows,  both  white  and 
green  shuttered,  small  sheds  with  almost  impos- 
sible gables,  scroll  work  and  poles  project  over 
the  brick  pavement,  and  high  up  from  the  steep 
roofs  rise  columns  of  smoke  from  the  peat  and 
coal  fires.  Here  and  there  the  old  ditches  are 
turned  into  kitchen  gardens  between  the  black 
piles  and  timbers  of  the  houses.  Along  one  side 
a  rope  maker  twisted  his  strands  on  spidery 
wooden  galleries.  I  could  see  him  plainly — his 
body  swinging  to  and  fro  as  he  turned  the  heavy 
wheel. 

A  girl  in  an  orange  bodice  was  getting  water 
from  a  butt  near  him.  I  saw  her  turn  and  give 
him  a  drink  from  her  pail,  and  then  I  heard  her 
clear  laugh  at  something  he  said. 

At  the  dike  lay  the  fishing  boats  all  drawn  up 
in  an  orderly  row,  their  brown  velvety  hued  sails 


172        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

raised  to  dry  them  in  the  sun,  and  the  men  and 
boys  busily  washing  down  decks  and  arranging 
the  tackle  for  the  departure  on  the  afternoon 
tide. 

Screams  and  laughter  came  from  throngs  of 
children  playing  on  the  dike,  and  long  lines  of 
white  ducks  and  ducklings  walked  solemnly  up 
and  down  at  the  water's  edge. 

Beyond  the  lines  of  houses  stretched  the  fair 
green  meadows  where  the  cows  grazed  with 
tinkling  bells  on  their  necks,  and  afar  off  I  could 
hear  the  softened  notes  of  a  hand  organ  played  by 
a  wandering  stroller  and  the  shouts  of  the  boys 
who  surrounded  him.  I  leaned  against  the  heavy 
wooden  white-topped  piling  waiting  for  the  boat 
which  was  to  bear  me  away  from  this  quaint  peo- 
ple who  had  so  hospitably  received  me.  and  from 
whom  I  was  parting  with  a  real  and  deep  feeling 
of  regret.  I  had  come  to  know  them  so  well  dur- 
ing these  weeks  of  my  stay  among  them,  indeed 
to  feel  a  real  affection  for  some  of  them,  rude  and 
uncouth  as  they  are.  There  was  old  Lisbeth  with 
her  daughter,  a  phenomenally  fat  baby  on  her 
arm,  come  to  bid  me  good-by,  which  said,  halt- 


DAILY  TASK 


"TOT  WEERSIENS"  173 

ingly  and  shyly,  she  lingered  to  see  me  go,  pre- 
tending to  be  interested  in  the  men  salting  their 
nets.  Suddenly  she  came  to  me  saying,  "I  would 
like  to  ask  Mynheer  a  question.  I  want  to  know 
has  Mynheer  ever  seen  the  Pope*?" 

I  answered  that  I  had  not,  and  she  seemed  dis- 
appointed. 

"Has  the  Pope  a  very  large  family?  Has  he 
a  wife  and  many  children?" 

"The  Pope  is  not  allowed  to  marry,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"But  that  is  not  right,"  she  said.  "I  don't  like 
that.  Of  course  he  is  not  happy,  is  he?" 

"Hij  lacht  niet.  Hij  dansen  niet.  Hij  Be- 
mint  niet."  (He  laughs  not.  He  dances  not. 
He  loves  not.)  "What  then  can  he  live  for?" 

I  shook  my  head  at  her.  I  could  think  of  no 
reply.  So  shifting  the  fat  child  to  her  other 
shoulder  she  made  me  a  curtsy  of  farewell,  and 
took  herself  off  down  the  dike. 

These  people  are  so  strange  and  so  unlike  any 
that  I  had  ever  before  been  thrown  with,  that  I 
was  forced  always  to  be  on  my  guard  with  them. 
Inquisitive  to  a  degree,  I  could  never  foresee  the 


174        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

direction  their  questions  regarding  the  outer 
world  would  take,  and  they  hung  so  expectantly 
upon  my  answers  that  I  was  often  forced  to  "spar 
for  a  time"  so  to  say,  in  order  to  answer  them  cor- 
rectly. They  are  so  truthful  themselves  that 
any  sort  of  "romancing"  on  my  part  would  have 
cost  me  their  friendship.  Upon  one  point  only 
is  their  veracity  exposed  to  suspicion  and  that  is 
the  ghostly  legend  which  flourishes  upon 
Marken.  These  springing  from  antiquity,  are 
sedulously  fostered  and  cultivated  and  handed 
down  with  additions  and  improvements  from 
generation  to  generation  who  take  immense  pride 
and  pleasure  in  them. 

The  last  night  of  my  stay  on  Marken  I  was 
entertained  by  some  of  these  legends  in  the 
house  of  old  Marretje  amid  her  blue  china  and 
shining  brass.  Marken  is  peculiar  in  its  ghostly 
beliefs.  Elsewhere  perhaps  peasants  gather 
about  the  roaring  fires  on  winter  evenings  and 
beguile  the  time  with  the  recital  of  marrow-freez- 
ing tales,  contributing  to  them  willfully  credu- 
lous minds,  but  I  can  confidently  assert  that  this 
custom  does  not  exist  on  Marken.  People  who 


"TOT  WEERSIENS"  175 

live  upon  solitary  spots  like  this  are  little  likely 
to  introduce  any  supernatural  spooks  into  their 
hard  lot,  or  to  people  the  wild  blasts  of  winter 
wailing  around  their  poor  hovels  with  phantoms. 
On  Marken  then  there  is  none  of  this  Vult  decipi. 
Old  Marretje  scoffs  at  them.  Nevertheless  she 
did  tell  me  of  fearsome  things  met  on  the  mead- 
ows in  the  dark,  and  of  strange  forms  cowering 
over  the  winter  hearths  in  the  dark  of  the  small 
hours  and  vanishing  into  dusky  corners  whence 
none  dare  more  than  to  surmise  their  ultimate 
place  of  abode.  She  told  me  of  seeing  herself 
a  shadow  lying  all  black  as  ink  across  the 
doorstep,  with  nothing  there  to  cast  it — fall- 
ing cold  as  ice,  too,  upon  whosoever  dared  to 
cross  it. 

She  told  me  of  a  decrepit  old  woman,  not  in  the 
Marken  costume,  mark  you,  who  in  winter  nights 
comes  tapping,  tapping,  at  the  outer  door,  who 
seems  harmless  enough  until  by  chance  you  gaze 
into  her  eyes,  then  she  laughs  silently — without 
noise,  mark  you — and  you  never,  never  can  for- 
get her !  And  she  speaks  to  you  slowly — slowly 
— and  this  is  what  she  says: 


176        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

"Ben  ik  niet  gegaan — Heb  ik  niet  gezaid — 
Heb  ik  niet  verscheurd — Heb  ik  niet  geweend — 
Heb  ik  niet  gehaad — Ben  ik  nietgeweest?" 

which  translated  means: 

"Have  I  not  walked — Have  I  not  sown — 
Have  I  not  torn — Have  I  not  cried — Have  I  not 
had — Have  I  not  been?' 

One  of  the  Marken  tragedies  she  related  as  fol- 
lows: 

"It  happened  over  on  Bisschops  vlie  beyond 
the  church,  where  a  ruined  half-fallen-down  hut 
yet  stands.  A  man  sick  with  pestilence  and  out 
of  his  head,  did  bar  himself  with  the  small  chil- 
dren in  the  hut,  while  the  mother  alone  able  to 
go  out,  went  to  the  village  over  the  ice  in  quest 
of  food,  and  when  at  length  she  returned  with 
meal  and  potatoes  at  night  over  the  ice  and 
through  the  drifts  of  deep  snow,  the  man  out  of 
his  mind  with  delirium  did  not  or  could  not  hear 
her  knocking  on  the  fastened  door  which  she 
could  not  open.  So  through  the  long  bleak  night 
on  the  open  meadow  in  the  driving  snow,  she  beat 
upon  that  closed  door,  while  the  children  cried 
and  the  man  raved  and  fought  the  visions  of  his 


"TOT  WEERSIENS"  177 

fever;  and  day  dawned;  men  who  passed  along 
the  dike  saw  no  smoke  from  the  chimney  of  the 
house,  and  going  over  found  them  all  cold  in 
death,  the  father  and  children  fastened  inside, 
the  poor  mother  outside  lying  across  the  threshold 
in  the  deep  drift  against  the  closed  door  at  which 
she  had  vainly  knocked.  Never  has  this  cabin 
since  been  occupied  and  the  grass  and  weeds 
grow  undisturbed  in  its  open  doorway.  Yet," 
said  old  Marretje  nodding  her  head  so  that  the 
yellow  silk  false  curls  at  either  side  of  her 
wrinkled  old  face  bobbed  up  and  down,  "on  cer- 
tain nights  this  unfortunate  woman  may  be  seen 
standing  in  this  black  open  doorway  among  the 
weeds.  Should  she  heed  you  not,  then  pass  on 
your  way  content  and  thankful.  But  on  the 
contrary,  should  she  lift  her  arms  to  you,  fly — fly 
— for  then  troubles  lie  in  store  for  you — black 
misfortune !" 

So  said  old  Marretje  Teerhuis  to  me  that  last 
night  of  my  stay  on  Marken  in  her  blue-tiled 
kitchen  on  the  dike. 

To  the  casual  observer  there  seems  to  be  little 
real  poverty  on  the  island.  The  children,  of 


178        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

which  there  are  myriads,  are  well  clad  and 
healthy  looking,  and  I  have  seen  no  cripples 
among  them.  During  the  day,  save  on  Saturday 
and  Sunday,  or  when  the  boats  are  laid  up  at  the 
dike  end,  as  to-day,  one  sees  few  men,  and  these 
are  very  old  ones. 

At  the  end  of  the  village  where  the  houses  are 
scattered,  silence  and  solitude  reign,  save  for  the 
clicking  of  the  wooden  shoes  of  an  old  woman 
passing  along  laden  with  a  heavy  basket  or  a 
quaintly  clad  girl  watching  a  flock  of  gabbling 
geese,  knitting  a  long  blue  woolen  stocking  and 
never  seeming  to  take  her  eyes  from  her  twin- 
kling needles. 

Of  live  stock  there  is  little,  a  few  cows,  a  dozen 
or  so  screaming  pigs  and  the  geese  make  up  the 
list.  It  is  said  that  once  upon  a  time  there  was  a 
donkey  in  the  village  but  that  was  long  ago,  long 
before  the  recollection  of  even  old  Marretje. 

All  the  women  knit  stockings  of  the  harsh  feel- 
ing dark  blue  yarn,  huge  hanks  of  which  hang  in 
every  house,  and  this  must  be  a  source  of  revenue 
to  them,  since  a  moderate  knitter  can  and  does 
finish  a  long  stocking  in  a  day. 


THE  DYKE 


"TOT  WEERSIENS"  179 

In  the  season  the  tourists  are  lavish  with  their 
tips  for  glasses  of  "boreeltij"  and  the  privilege  of 
"snapshotting"  the  women  and  children.  This 
morning  they  are  sitting  in  a  long  line  on  the 
dike  in  the  sun;  some  have  children  playing  at 
their  feet,  but  all  the  women  are  knitting.  On 
the  horizon  is  a  cloud  of  black  smoke  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Amsterdam.  It  is  the  small  steamer 
which  is  to  bear  me  away.  One  by  one  the  peas- 
ants come  to  say  good-by  to  Mynheer  tJ  Schil- 
derer.  Old  Ary  Bisschop,  pipe  in  mouth,  gives 
me  a  limp  hand  in  farewell.  Did  I  not  know 
well  his  disposition,  I  might  think  him  cold,  but 
we  had  fished  together  on  many  occasions,  at  least 
he  did  the  fishing  while  I  looked  on  and  urged 
the  conversation.  He  presents  me  with  a  well- 
colored  clay  pipe  in  a  carved  boxwood  case  which 
I  had  admired,  and  manages  to  ejaculate  what 
he  considers  a  most  affectionate  farewell  speech. 
After  him  is  the  tall  wiry  form  of  Jan  Appel,  the 
skipper,  who  won  from  me  my  Swedish  knife 
which  I  do  not  begrudge  him.  He  wears  it  at- 
tached to  a  knitted  lanyard  across  his  red  woolen 
waistcoat,  the  silver  buttons  of  which  he  pre- 


i8o        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

sented  to  me  last  night.  He  shakes  hands  with 
me  while  over  his  leathern  brown,  clean-shaven 
face  plays  a  smile  of  singular  sweetness. 

After  him  comes  the  Koek-bakker,  who  disbe- 
lieved my  tales  of  the  wonders  of  New  York, 
particularly  those  of  the  subway  and  the  eleva- 
tors in  the  Singer  Tower,  but  who  nevertheless 
is  inclined  to-day  to  overlook  what  he  considers 
my  mendacious  inventions.  He  presents  me 
surreptitiously  with  a  well-worn  silver  ring 
which  he  wore  on  the  fourth  finger  of  his  left 
hand.  He  picked  a  small  piece  of  dough  from 
it  before  he  handed  it  to  me,  asking  if  I  would 
wear  it,  which  I  promised  to  do  with  pleasure. 

He  gave  way  to  big  Piet  Smet  who  bore  a  large 
package  in  his  hands  tied  in  a  piece  of  sacking 
with  coarse  fish  line.  This  he  explained  was  the 
model  of  the  fishing  boat  which  hung  over  his 
mantel  and  which  I  had  long  admired  and  cov- 
eted. Would  I  accept  it,  he  asked  shyly. 
Would  I  not  indeed?  I  answered  delightedly. 
As  a  favor  he  asked  that  I  send  him  some  picture 
papers  from  that  great  New  York  of  which  I  had 
told  him  such  wonders.  And  he  believed  them, 


"TOT  WEERSIENS"  181 

too,  wagging  his  cropped  head  at  me,  "Not  like 
that  'Koek-bakker'  over  there — he  knew  that 
what  I  said  was  true — had  he  not  asked  the  Heer 
Pastoor?  Did  not  the  Heer  Pastoor  believe 
what  I  had  told  them?  Well  then — what  would 
you — It  was  all  true!"  "Wij  zijn  niet  beloefd 
(we  are  not  polite)  to  doubt  Mynheer's  word!" 

And  now  came  Mevrouwe  Marretje  Teerhuis 
to  say  good-by.  This  was  a  great  honor  which 
she  paid  me,  and  I  hastened  to  take  her  hand  and 
to  tell  her  how  much  I  appreciated  her  coming  to 
the  dike  end.  Her  old  eyes  twinkled  as  she  made 
me  her  curtsy,  and  then  she  placed  a  long  thick 
package  in  my  hand,  saying,  "Dat  zult  ge  zeker 
nooit  raden  (I  am  sure  you  will  never  guess) 
what  it  is  that  I  give  you." 

"But  yes,"  I  replied,  "I  know  that  it  is  that 
lovely  old  brass  candle  snuffer  that  you  would 
not  sell  me — and  I  thank  you  indeed  for  it." 
And  so  with  hearty  good-bys  from  these  people 
who  had  received  me  so  cordially,  and  been  so 
kind  to  me,  I  passed  down  the  steep  plank  onto 
the  puffing  little  grimy  black  steamer  which  was 
to  bear  me  away  from  this  strange  island  in  the 


1 82        MARKEN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 

Zuyder  Zee.  I  passed  to  the  after  deck  under 
the  awning  and  then  the  line  was  cast  off.  The 
steamer  swung  off,  turned  in  a  wide  circle  be- 
tween the  dikes,  the  captain  rang  the  jingle  bell 
twice,  and  out  we  passed  swiftly  on  the  way  to 
Amsterdam.  Looking  back  I  saw  the  people  still 
standing  on  the  dike  end,  the  costumes  of  the 
women  making  a  brilliant  blaze  of  color  against 
the  cloudless  sky.  I  waved  my  hand  to  them, 
but  they  did  not  respond.  Then  the  captain 
blew  the  whistle  three  times,  and  I  saw  the  peo- 
ple on  the  dike  end  wave  their  hands  to  us.  So 
they  passed  from  my  sight. 

"ToT  WEERSIENS." 


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